Author's notes: These notes have had a long time coming. First off, this story has been running under a different title for over two years. It was originally entitled 'Between the Lines,' which had the first chapter published here on fanfiction.net. The story needed a boost to come back to life and one necessity was to give it a title more appropriate to the story idea. Number two: I have never established a timeline for this story so now I hereby claim that this story to fit into the fourth season, before the season finale. That should be all.
Away from the flashing neon lights of the streets that never sleep in Las Vegas the scene was more subdued, giving in to the silence and darkness of night. Men and women were crawling into bed in two-floor family homes, getting some rest for the long workday ahead of them. As the residential roads widened and made their way closer to the main roads that led back into the heart of the city, the large house thinned out and became smaller and scarcer like an endangered species as apartment buildings, townhouses and flats cropped up in place. Parks dotted the empty stretches where small plazas had yet to be built.
"Yes honey... I know I'm late. I'll be home in fifteen minutes," a man said, talking into his cell phone to his harried wife. The closing hour had arrived only minutes ago for the few shops that were still open, including the coffee shop in which a husband spoke to his wife on his phone. He pinched the bridge of his nose as the familiar droning pain of a headache crept to the forefront of his mind. He tried concentrating on his ranting wife but the couple still in the coffee shop were heard in the background, their voices rising as their heated conversation continued. There were too many distractions for him to deal with and he was sure that his head was about to split in half.
"Calm down... well yes - I know he should be in bed," he continued, pressing hard in downward strokes on his nose. His head throbbed painfully in tune with the voices as they began shouting, their words becoming less decipherable despite the increase in volume as passions distorted the message. "Hun, hun! Wait a second! - Mark, can you get those two out of here? We were supposed to close five minutes ago!"
The other man in the room turned off the faucets from where he stood in front of the sink, flinging his hands to get rid of excess water. "I'll get right on that," Mark said, grabbing the towel to his left to dry his hands. He hurried out of the room just as his co-worker began talking again into his cell phone.
"Will you please calm down!" he said, tightening his fingers about his nose to the extent that he winced in painand shouted the words across to his wife in hopes that she'd lower her own voice. It was bad enough that he was arguing with his wife but to have another couple not even ten metres away arguing as well he was sure that he was going to say something he'd regret. He sighed thankfully as his wife turned silent, if only temporarily. "Try to get him to go to bed one more time. If he doesn't listen to you, I'll take care of him when I get back. And I will be back in twenty minutes... It was fifteen minutes until you started arguing with me!" A tinny laugh could be heard from the other end and he couldn't help but smile, chuckling slowly in return. "I will be home in under half an hour. I'll see you soon. Bye."
With the last of his chuckles on his lips he slipped the antennae back into place. "One problem down, now all we have to do is get the disgruntled couple out and to complete the check out," he said to himself as he slipped his cell phone into his jacket pocket where his jacket hung. A gunshot interrupted the process, taking him by surprise so that his grip went slack. The phone fell to the ground and skidded under the table as it went. "What the..." A second gunshot sounded only seconds later.
He dove for his cell phone under the table before running out of the back room, the door slamming against the wall in the process. He jogged out from behind the cashier counter to discover Mark propped up in a sitting position at the bottom of the counter, his work uniform and body marred by the gunshot wound that pierced his chest. Blood heavily stained his lap and stomach as it spilled out from the wound. "Oh no..." he uttered in a low groan. His lips trembled as he attempted to voice more words that were lost in despair. A noise from outside that was perhaps a groaning tree branch weakening against the strong chill wind diverted his attention from his co-worker, beckoning him to look in the direction of the door. The expression on his face fell even deeper as he noticed the woman who had come into the shop only ten minutes ago lying sprawled out on the sidewalk in a puddle of blood, her face twisted in silent protest and agony.
He fumbled with his cell phone, dropping it to the ground with trembling hands. With one hand he took Mark's wrist as gingerly as he could, desperately hoping to find a pulse while with his other hand he dialled the most dreaded three numbers anyone could call.
"911 - How can I help you?"
A black Chevrolet Tahoe pulled up to the plaza twenty minutes later, parking illegally over several spans of parking spots. The neighbourhood gossipers peered out from behind their curtained windows to spy upon the flashing emergency lights of police cars and the ambulances that accompanied them. Warrick broke the silence as he diverted his eyes towards Nick who was climbing out of the open driver's door. "Did you ever pass your Driver's Ed test?" Warrick asked, starring into Nick's back. He drew his stiff grip away from the armrest upon the door, finding some relief that they had finally stopped.
Nick turned around as he leaned into the van, a small smile appearing on his face. He casually held himself up by resting his arms apart, one propped up on the windshield as the other held the door. "On the third try, why do you ask?" Nick inquired, knowing that the answer and question only infuriated the other CSI detective. His eyebrows hitched up, his smile broadening into the epitome of innocence; he knew full well that it would annoy Warrick all the more.
The two men closed the doors with near synchronized movements before crossing with kits in hand. Nick had a slight lead since Warrick had to get around the car in order to approach the victims. "It's bad enough that you ran that one stop sign; now you decide to parallel park in three parking spots," Warrick stated, closing in on the short distance that Nick had a lead on. "Next time I drive."
"Don't forget, the car is mine honey," Nick replied, putting the keys into his jeans pockets as he strode to the body that blocked the entry to the shop. Crouched over the young woman was chief CSI investigator Gil Grissom.
Grissom's face was the usual stoic expression that made him appear both wise and worldly as though he saw and knew everything, the expression that made him untouchable and perhaps a bit too old. The wisdom flickered in his eyes as he looked up, having heard the treading of approaching footsteps. Surprise remained in his eyes but for a half-second before returning to a peaceful gaze. "You two got here faster then I thought," he remarked, his voice inflecting a smile even though his face remained neutral.
"Well with Nick behind the wheel, driving as though he was on the Indy 500, we got here with time to spare," Warrick pointed out dryly, turning his head only slightly towards Nick as if he had to indicate who he was talking about.
"You two are supposed to be aiding and protecting Las Vegas, not tearing it up," Brass said as he approached the detectives assigned to the case. He had been talking with one of the police officers but had noted their sudden arrival.
"Warrick just hates it when I get to drive, we got here perfectly safe and sound. He just doesn't appreciate my parking techniques," Nick explained, shooting a look to Warrick to mirror the one he was receiving. Figuratively and literally Nick shrugged off the verbal sparring match as he crouched down. "So what have we got?"
"A twenty-four year old Hispanic woman by the name of Thiba Sanchez. Cause of death was a gunshot wound to the chest but further trauma is found on the face, arms and neck. Inside we have the second victim, one Mark Harper. Caucasian, thirty-two years of age and employee of Java Jolt," Grissom explained. He did a quick look over of the woman's hands, concentrating on her fingers.
"Any witnesses?" Warrick inquired, looking towards Brass for this piece of the puzzle.
"There was a second employee, Neil Blinman, but he didn't see anything, he only heard what was going on," Brass explained, looking down at the small notepad that he got from the police officer from earlier. "What he did see was what preceded the shots. The woman arrived at about 10:50 and ordered a coffee, a donut and two-dozen muffins. The coffee was going to take a while since the pot was empty but since she's a regular at the place they made up a new pot that was going to take ten minutes. They locked up the till after she paid and finished the cleaning in the front before going into the backroom.
"The bell on the door chimed two to three minutes before eleven, a minute after the two employees entered the backroom. Whoever it was that entered knew her, for the worse one would presume since they got into a heated conversation that escalated into a shouting match. They could hear fragments of the conversation because the door to the backroom was slightly ajar. The witness was certain that it was a man arguing with her. Mark went out to ask them to leave but not even a minute after he left the backroom the first shot was fired, with the next shot fired five seconds later," Brass concluded as his eyes lifted up from the notepad.
"We'll know more of the profile of the killer once we canvas the scene," Nick commented. Brass didn't say anything in return but simply looked at the detective as he looked about, silently assuring him that he wasn't dumb. "Should I take a walk around the parking lot or check out the deceased inside?"
"I have already gathered evidence from Thiba. I will be inside taking evidence off of Mark while you two will cover the parking lot," Grissom explained. The younger detectives would have done what was requested of them had not one of them gone absent. The group of men looked about to find the missing detective. "Warrick?"
"Down here," Warrick called, raising his voice enough so that he not only caught not the attention of the chief of police and the two other crime-scene investigators but also several police officers. Having already taken the initiative to explore the parking lot, Warrick had followed a blood trail of footprints that originated from the puddle that had formed under the woman, departing down from the curb and out to the parking lot.
"What are you doing?" Grissom asked his voice tinged with annoyance, thinking that Warrick hadn't been listening at all. He moved towards the other detective as he pulled a flashlight out of his kit. Nick shook his head in wonder before following his superior.
"Figuring out where the murderer went," Warrick said as he pulled on his rubber gloves. Even in the dark of night he could see a dark outline on the pavement with thanks of the flashing lights from a near by police car. He took a quick swipe of the substance with the tip of his glove. "Burnt tire tread. And it's fresh."
"I can't think of many perpetrators who'd want to stay close to the scene of the crime," Nick remarked as he arrived behind Grissom, looking down upon the mark that Warrick was pointing out. "But it will still help in identifying the getaway vehicle."
"It would... if it weren't for the fact that the set of foot prints continues," Warrick added, pointing to a wet mark beyond the burn mark. It was the same darkness of the tire markings but it was shaped in the outline of a shoe. The print continued several more strides as it continued to cross the span of the parking lot. "It appears that he went somewhere before going to the car. Did the witness say he saw or heard anything else?"
"No, or at least not according to his statement," Brass admitted, looking to his notepad and tapping it with his finger. A police officer in his mid-thirties walked behind them but Brass' quick hand grabbed the other officer's elbow, preventing him from going any further. "Benson, you talked to Mr. Blinman. Was this all you got out of him?"
While Brass talked to the police officer, Warrick continued across the parking lot with Nick following slowly behind. The blood trail was fading and finished upon the opposite curb of the parking lot, just catching on the side. A light imprint of the footprint was visible in the grass with a bit of blood pressed about at the ball of the foot, followed by another shallow imprint not too far ahead. Warrick lifted his gaze up and to the park on the other side of the street before fumbling with the latch of his kit.
Nick was doing a search of the parameter of the parking lot, focussing on the front portion that was closest to the plaza. He couldn't help but look up though when he spotted Warrick rise up from his crouched position and step out of the parking lot. "Ya know, brown-town, I think you need a pair of glasses," Nick remarked, moving towards the other detective. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder; "The parking lot's this way." Warrick looked over his shoulder, giving him a no-nonsense look before turning back. "What? - Have you found something?"
"I might," Warrick replied, turning on the flashlight he fetched from his kit before jogging across the street.
"Wait up man!" Nick called out, hailing up his hand as if to restrain him even though Warrick was out of arm's reach.
"Nick, where is Warrick going now" Grissom asked, his voice once again stretching against his restraints of tolerance.
"Across the street - he thinks he has..."
"Grissom!" Brass yelled, interrupting both Nick from continuing and Grissom from pushing any further. "You won't believe this guy. First he says he heard two gunshots. Now he's saying that he heard two gun shots and 'something else.'"
Grissom's mouth opened as though he was going to say something but then it paused, hanging for a brief second. "What 'something else' did he hear?" he inquired, his patience wearing thinner and grating through his face to become visible.
"It was in the distance so he couldn't say what it was," Brass said, his voice dripping with unneeded sarcasm. "He doesn't even know what to compare it to but considering the evidence so far..." Brass didn't need to complete his words to get his message across. The insinuation was all that was needed to send Grissom and Nick chasing after Warrick, across the street with Brass close behind them.
Much to Warrick's pleasure the bloody footprints continued across the street and towards a trail that led to a park through a large thicket. The trail took a turn from the trail though, leading down a deep incline towards denser foliage. He heard the familiar voices of the rest of the CSI team as he continued down closer to the recesses of several trees. Was that a shoe he saw?
Warrick held his breath as he got closer to the dark outline that hung on the grass. Sure enough he had seen a shoe, which was connected to a figure, a figure that he couldn't recognise at first. He moved in as close as he could without destroying any potential evidence, when the beam of light from the flashlight caught the gentle curve of the face, possibly a woman's. Her neck was caught at an awkward angle and blood was stained the grass under her right shoulder. His only presumption was that she got shot from behind. Warrick moved his hand in, brushing her dark hair back as he gingerly reached for her neck.
"Warrick!"
Warrick turned around, his expression surprisingly calm despite the evidence he found. "I hope that the ambulance hasn't left. We've got a third gunshot victim – and she's alive."