Grissom gently replaced the phone, his forehead wrinkling. "What's wrong?" Nick asked, seeing the look on his face. "That was a message from our killer." Grissom said, and told him what had been said. "Wow," Nick exclaimed, "That was weird, are you sure it was a real deal?" Grissom nodded, "Yeah, he knew about the grease, he told me he put it there for me to find." "That's creepy Grissom." Nick said shuddering. Grissom nodded absently, his mind on the murdered girl, and her killer. Who for some reason wanted to compete with Grissom.
Catherine Willows and Sara Sidel were waiting for Grissom and Nick in Grissom's office. Catherine glanced around at the many piles of folders stacked in the corners. Grissom was good, other states sent him reports to see if he could find what others had not. The end result, Grissom was always busy, swamped. He was always up late reviewing cases, and up early doing the same thing. Catherine, although she didn't want to admit it, sometimes worried about him. He was always in high gear, never relaxing. There was a knock at the door, and without pause, it opened and Greg Sanders strolled in, holding reports in one hand, and samples in the other. "Oh hi guys, is Grissom here, I have the lab reports and samples he wanted." Catherine shook his head, "He's at a crime scene, you can just leave it here." "Okay." Greg sat them gingerly on Grissom's table, then grinning, left. Catherine shook her head in exasperation, and Sara asked "What's wrong?" "Oh Grissom is just always so busy, he's going to wear himself out." Sara smiled mischievously, "Is someone having some warm, tender, maternal feelings for our esteemed leader?" Catherine shook her head quickly, feeling her cheeks warm up, "No, I'm just worried that it'll affect his performance." Sara punched her shoulder playfully, "Yeah right, you're hot for Grissom!" "I am not!" Catherine said forcefully, but Sara just laughed.
Grissom had to stop by his house first before he went back to see what Sara and Catherine had wanted. He had to grab a case file he had been reviewing before he had went to bed last night. His house was dark, silent, and very organized. He picked up the file that was lying by the couch where he had finally collapsed last night. While glancing through it, he suddenly stiffened. His living room window was open, the black curtain blowing gently in the breeze. He started to turn, but only got half-way before something really hard slammed into his head. Blackness took over, and he fell with a thud to the floor.