An eerie five-note melody echoed through the room, emanating from a well-
played and well-kept electric guitar. The sounds were sweet, familiar.
"Is that a Nirvana song?" Sara asked, staring at the scruffy teen.
"It's mine, but it's derived from 'Smells Like Teen Spirit'." He'd come through puberty with a beautiful voice, a little rough from the cigarettes he kept in the back pocket of his baggy jeans, but rich, with deep undertones. She guessed that every girl with eyes and ears and half a brain cell took one look and one listen and fell hard.
"Better watch out, don't let Courtney Love find out," she said. "You wouldn't want to end up sued or worse."
Evan Morse chuckled. "Yeah," he agreed with a cheeky and charming half smile. "I wouldn't want anyone to think I killed myself."
"Not the way I want to go," she replied, giving the boy a smile.
Grissom watched the exchange with a frown. Was Sara flirting with the kid? Not good.
"So, Evan," Sara started as the teen restarted his song, "you know Gil Grissom?" She gestured towards the entomologist, who stepped closer to his wife.
"I know of him," he told his guitar, chocolate locks falling into his face as he played the same five notes again and again. It sounded like a cross between the Nirvana song and the theme song to The X-Files, Sara noted, if such a thing could exist.
"What about Gary Barnes?" Grissom asked, finally speaking. He'd tried to keep his suspicions about Sara's actions towards the kid out of his voice, but apparently missed some of it, because she turned and glared.
"Know of him," Evan repeated. "He's freaky. Weird MO."
"What's weird about beating the shit out of women?" Sara asked, getting an edge to her tone Grissom did not like at all.
"Well, nothing really," the teen started, turning around to face the pair of criminalists. His eyes grew large. "Holy crap. No shit! No one's going to believe this!" he exclaimed, his expression indicating he was about a second away from jumping up and down and screaming like a twelve- year-old girl at a Backstreet Boys concert. "It's you!"
The entomologist and the physicist exchanged puzzled glances and nodded.
"Oh, wow, this. . .this rocks!" Evan nearly screeched, letting go of the guitar. "Holy fuck, you're Sara! And, and, and. . .that's Gil Grissom? Holy fuck!"
"Ev, watch your language!" his mother called from somewhere in the house.
Sara looked down at the ground, grinning, biting her inner cheek to fight the bursts of laughter she was sure were about to explode from her. The teen looked star-struck.
Grissom looked embarrassed.
"So, you know who we are now?" she said finally, her voice cracking from the laughter still threatening to bubble up.
"I'm so stupid!" the boy chastised. "You're, like, my world. How did I not notice? Holy crap."
"Your world?" Grissom asked, his forehead crinkling in concentration and suspicion.
"Oh, yeah," the boy nodded vigorously. "Totally. Like, you two are my forensics gods. And Gary Barnes, he's like the devil." Evan blushed. "Only without all that religious crap, I know you're not into that, Mr. Grissom."
"I'm more against the ritual than the actual belief, Evan," Grissom said cautiously. "How do you know that?"
"I'd rather not say," the kid replied, picking up on the caution in his hero's tone and dropping the warmth in his own by twenty degrees. Sara guessed correctly that the boy was getting angry that Grissom wasn't nearly as excited to meet him as Evan had been.
"So, Evan, you're a fan of our work?" she asked, diverting his creepily piercing glare from Grissom to her.
"Unsung heroes of law enforcement. We all know who does all the work and doesn't get any credit." His fair skin flushed again, he wasn't like all the seventeen-year-old guys she'd known. "And, I know you're married and all, but if I had a really good picture of you, you'd be on my ceiling."
She tried her best not to look startled. "Why your ceiling?"
"So you'd be the last thing I saw before I went to sleep and the first thing I'd see when I wake up. And if I woke up in the middle of the night, I'd be reassured you were out saving lives and putting the bad people in prison."
Her eyebrows were trying to decide between residing in the incredulously high position, or the contracted, over-the-eyes, creeped out position, finally choosing to do one of each. Grissom, meanwhile, was doing a slow burn behind her, his 'manly-man' protective-possessive instinct working overtime.
"Well, uh. . .That's. . .very, uh. . .sweet, Evan," she stammered. The furnace behind her flared as the teenager gave Sara the grin that had probably caused and probably would continue to cause girls to swoon.
"Evan?" The boy turned his glance to the stewing criminalist. "This is the fish."
He turned the color of his tight shirt, olive green, for just an instant, swallowing hard. "How-? What?"
"This is the fish," Grissom said smugly. "That mean something to you?"
"I. . .uh. . .No!" Evan grabbed his guitar, racing through his melody, slowing it down as he slowed his breathing. "No."
"You don't sound so sure," Grissom continued over the music. "That doesn't mean anything to you at all? What about Sean Gregory? Or Marshall and Peggy Williams?"
"I don't know anything!" Evan protested. "Sean's death, I don't know anything!"
"First name basis?" Sara noted. "You knew him."
Five notes continued their trip around the room. "He lived down the street from my dad's place."
"What about the Williams?"
"Mr. Williams killed himself, after his wife died. That was in the paper. He wanted to kill himself." He played faster. "Why are you asking me about them? I don't know anything. The deaths, they're not related. Sean was a nice kid, and Mr. Williams was a great teacher, that's all I know. I don't know anything else."
"He was your teacher?" Grissom asked.
"Yeah, back in, like, second grade. Before my mom and I moved out here. He was always talking about his wife, how he loved her, couldn't live without her. Especially when he heard about my folks splitting up."
Sara looked to Grissom, who nodded, and said, "Evan, you want to come back to Vegas with us?"
"I didn't do anything!"
She reached out, placed a hand on the guitar, forcing Evan to stop playing. "Listen to me. You have to come back to Las Vegas with us. I don't care if you did anything or not. There's a lot of evidence that suggests you are involved, okay? If you didn't do anything, you'll come back with us and explain. If you did. . ." Sara gave him a cold glare. "We'll have you arrested and tried for murder."
"It's mine, but it's derived from 'Smells Like Teen Spirit'." He'd come through puberty with a beautiful voice, a little rough from the cigarettes he kept in the back pocket of his baggy jeans, but rich, with deep undertones. She guessed that every girl with eyes and ears and half a brain cell took one look and one listen and fell hard.
"Better watch out, don't let Courtney Love find out," she said. "You wouldn't want to end up sued or worse."
Evan Morse chuckled. "Yeah," he agreed with a cheeky and charming half smile. "I wouldn't want anyone to think I killed myself."
"Not the way I want to go," she replied, giving the boy a smile.
Grissom watched the exchange with a frown. Was Sara flirting with the kid? Not good.
"So, Evan," Sara started as the teen restarted his song, "you know Gil Grissom?" She gestured towards the entomologist, who stepped closer to his wife.
"I know of him," he told his guitar, chocolate locks falling into his face as he played the same five notes again and again. It sounded like a cross between the Nirvana song and the theme song to The X-Files, Sara noted, if such a thing could exist.
"What about Gary Barnes?" Grissom asked, finally speaking. He'd tried to keep his suspicions about Sara's actions towards the kid out of his voice, but apparently missed some of it, because she turned and glared.
"Know of him," Evan repeated. "He's freaky. Weird MO."
"What's weird about beating the shit out of women?" Sara asked, getting an edge to her tone Grissom did not like at all.
"Well, nothing really," the teen started, turning around to face the pair of criminalists. His eyes grew large. "Holy crap. No shit! No one's going to believe this!" he exclaimed, his expression indicating he was about a second away from jumping up and down and screaming like a twelve- year-old girl at a Backstreet Boys concert. "It's you!"
The entomologist and the physicist exchanged puzzled glances and nodded.
"Oh, wow, this. . .this rocks!" Evan nearly screeched, letting go of the guitar. "Holy fuck, you're Sara! And, and, and. . .that's Gil Grissom? Holy fuck!"
"Ev, watch your language!" his mother called from somewhere in the house.
Sara looked down at the ground, grinning, biting her inner cheek to fight the bursts of laughter she was sure were about to explode from her. The teen looked star-struck.
Grissom looked embarrassed.
"So, you know who we are now?" she said finally, her voice cracking from the laughter still threatening to bubble up.
"I'm so stupid!" the boy chastised. "You're, like, my world. How did I not notice? Holy crap."
"Your world?" Grissom asked, his forehead crinkling in concentration and suspicion.
"Oh, yeah," the boy nodded vigorously. "Totally. Like, you two are my forensics gods. And Gary Barnes, he's like the devil." Evan blushed. "Only without all that religious crap, I know you're not into that, Mr. Grissom."
"I'm more against the ritual than the actual belief, Evan," Grissom said cautiously. "How do you know that?"
"I'd rather not say," the kid replied, picking up on the caution in his hero's tone and dropping the warmth in his own by twenty degrees. Sara guessed correctly that the boy was getting angry that Grissom wasn't nearly as excited to meet him as Evan had been.
"So, Evan, you're a fan of our work?" she asked, diverting his creepily piercing glare from Grissom to her.
"Unsung heroes of law enforcement. We all know who does all the work and doesn't get any credit." His fair skin flushed again, he wasn't like all the seventeen-year-old guys she'd known. "And, I know you're married and all, but if I had a really good picture of you, you'd be on my ceiling."
She tried her best not to look startled. "Why your ceiling?"
"So you'd be the last thing I saw before I went to sleep and the first thing I'd see when I wake up. And if I woke up in the middle of the night, I'd be reassured you were out saving lives and putting the bad people in prison."
Her eyebrows were trying to decide between residing in the incredulously high position, or the contracted, over-the-eyes, creeped out position, finally choosing to do one of each. Grissom, meanwhile, was doing a slow burn behind her, his 'manly-man' protective-possessive instinct working overtime.
"Well, uh. . .That's. . .very, uh. . .sweet, Evan," she stammered. The furnace behind her flared as the teenager gave Sara the grin that had probably caused and probably would continue to cause girls to swoon.
"Evan?" The boy turned his glance to the stewing criminalist. "This is the fish."
He turned the color of his tight shirt, olive green, for just an instant, swallowing hard. "How-? What?"
"This is the fish," Grissom said smugly. "That mean something to you?"
"I. . .uh. . .No!" Evan grabbed his guitar, racing through his melody, slowing it down as he slowed his breathing. "No."
"You don't sound so sure," Grissom continued over the music. "That doesn't mean anything to you at all? What about Sean Gregory? Or Marshall and Peggy Williams?"
"I don't know anything!" Evan protested. "Sean's death, I don't know anything!"
"First name basis?" Sara noted. "You knew him."
Five notes continued their trip around the room. "He lived down the street from my dad's place."
"What about the Williams?"
"Mr. Williams killed himself, after his wife died. That was in the paper. He wanted to kill himself." He played faster. "Why are you asking me about them? I don't know anything. The deaths, they're not related. Sean was a nice kid, and Mr. Williams was a great teacher, that's all I know. I don't know anything else."
"He was your teacher?" Grissom asked.
"Yeah, back in, like, second grade. Before my mom and I moved out here. He was always talking about his wife, how he loved her, couldn't live without her. Especially when he heard about my folks splitting up."
Sara looked to Grissom, who nodded, and said, "Evan, you want to come back to Vegas with us?"
"I didn't do anything!"
She reached out, placed a hand on the guitar, forcing Evan to stop playing. "Listen to me. You have to come back to Las Vegas with us. I don't care if you did anything or not. There's a lot of evidence that suggests you are involved, okay? If you didn't do anything, you'll come back with us and explain. If you did. . ." Sara gave him a cold glare. "We'll have you arrested and tried for murder."