"Hi, you son of a bitch," Sara greeted as she walked into the interrogation
room where Gary Barnes was sitting, shackled to his seat. "Hot enough for
you?" It was eighty degrees in the shade but dry. "How are you liking
your trip to Las Vegas?"
The crew-cut blond man sat staring stoically at her, refusing to answer. Grissom watched this from the other side of the observation glass, wondering again how wise it was to let her do this. Sara was this guy's victim, even if she didn't want to admit it, and generally speaking, victims were not allowed to interrogate their attackers. But she had insisted, insisted to the point where she had packed a bag and told him she was going to Catherine's until they'd figured it out.
He'd given in almost immediately.
Warrick and Nick teased him about being whipped, and yeah, he was. But whipped and with Sara was better than not whipped without her.
Grissom decided that it wasn't so bad to have her questioning him. Besides, if anything went wrong, Brass was in there, along with Tony Dodd. Gary Barnes, you poor bastard, he thought, you're trapped in that room with a very angry victim, and two very angry cops. I'd pity you if I didn't hate you so much.
"I'd answer her," Dodd drawled. "You owe her that much."
"I don't owe that bitch anything," Barnes growled, his voice rough.
Grissom turned away from the mirror as Dodd's fist landed with a crunch on Barnes' face. His new policy when it came to this case was: if I didn't see it, it didn't happen.
"Don't call her a bitch again," Tony warned.
Barnes snorted out blood. "Wait until I tell my lawyer," he coughed.
Brass jumped in with, "Oh, your court-appointed defender? He won't be here for another hour."
"A lot can happen in an hour," Sara told Barnes. "Fights break out in prison all the time. . .but you wouldn't know anything about that, would you? You're a decent guy, little temper problem but not so serious. . .until you mess with the wrong guy. What do we know? You were in lockup for the last, what? Forty minutes?" She shrugged, her voice taking on a tone Grissom had never heard before and never wanted to hear again. "A broken nose is not the worst that can happen in a prison brawl, remember that."
"So, if you don't mind too much, Gary, you're going to answer her questions," Brass ordered.
Barnes glared at the brunette, wiped away some of the blood with the back of his shackled hand. "Fine."
"Gary," she started, leaning up against the table. "I think we're familiar enough with each other to cut through all this crap, so I only have one question. Be warned, it's in quite a few parts."
"Shoot," he challenged.
"Why'd you use your brother to get to me?" Her voice took on a hypnotic resonance, one that made Grissom turn back to the glass. When Barnes didn't answer, she smiled. "Come on, Gary. Jerry was there, I saw him."
"Gary and Jerry," Brass interjected. "Your mom's original."
Barnes failed to take the bait, so Sara moved on to her next question. "Ever been to San Francisco?"
"City by the Bay," he shrugged. "Too foggy. I wasn't there long."
"Long enough to kill five women."
"That was Jer's gig, not mine," Barnes said.
"We have DNA that says you were there, we have a ton of evidence that puts you in the killer seat, not your brother," Sara countered. "Why lie about it? You're only hurting yourself."
He stared her down, not answering, so she continued. "How good did it feel to kill those girls, Gary? Bet it felt real nice, keeping them just alive enough to scream as you beat them, cut them, writing little messages in their backs. . .I can only imagine how good it was for you."
Alarm bells were blaring in Grissom's head. Sara, no, he thought. Don't get into his head. Don't start feeling the way he felt. Grissom could only imagine the nightmares tonight, and thought hard about going into the room and taking her out before it got any worse.
But his message was not getting through, and she continued, leaning closer into Barnes. "Picking out the perfect words for the note, making sure to tease us investigators just enough, all the while planning the next one. I bet it felt so nice to get back to Georgia after getting one in Vegas and finding that your brother had caught you another one." He voice was seductive almost, husky. She traced over her scar, nearly whispering, "You didn't have time to finish with me, so you left me a souvenir, Gary. Did you like putting that knife up against my cheek, knowing just how cold that blade was, knowing how hot it was going to be in a second? I bet you loved how I screamed when you slid that blade deep into my flesh. . ."
Sara, no. It had become Grissom's new mantra.
Barnes had closed his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. His tongue darted out, glancing over his smile. "You shrieked like a cat that's been stepped on," he said smoothly; a chill ran down Grissom's spine. "Calling out for Grissom," Barnes imitated her voice, "Grissom!"
Sara's eyes were unreadable. "And then you carved me up. You wanted to start with the back, write your message while I was still able to feel every letter, every soft-sharp slide of the knife through my skin, all the way down to the muscle. . ."
". . .It would have been incredible," he agreed, his eyes popping open to look at her. "I didn't recognize you without all the blood."
"Too bad the cops came," she replied, voice nearly regretful. Their eyes had locked, the rest of the room invisible.
"We could have had tons of fun," he replied.
They were caught in each other, Grissom realized, unable to get out of the trap they had built. It seemed like they were both getting off on it, and he rushed to pull out his cell phone and called Brass. "Get her out of there," he ordered. "She's too involved."
"Yeah, ok," Brass said absently, enthralled with the spectacle himself.
"Jim, get her out of there now!"
He watched as Brass touched Sara's arm, breaking her connection with Barnes. She blinked hard, shaking her head as she moved away from the table and out of the room. A moment later, Grissom heard the door click shut and turned, Sara was almost shaking, breathing hard. He sat her down and kneeled in front of her, she wouldn't meet his eyes.
"Sara," he whispered, trying and failing to get her attention off of Barnes.
"I don't know what happened in there, Gris," she said, staring at Barnes through the glass.
"You messed up," he snapped, and finally her face turned away from the glass. She glowered at him, eyes furious at the insinuation.
"I hardly think going in there and asking him some questions is messing up," she snapped back.
"It is when you form that kind of mental bond with your suspect!" he yelled. "You were losing your hold on him, getting into him."
"I was fine, Grissom! I was in control!"
"You were in his head, Sara, and he was in yours. You were not in control."
"I was in control!" she insisted, fury rising in her voice.
"If you were in control, I never would've pulled you out," he told her. "So don't pull that 'I was in control' crap with me."
Her jaw set, she snapped, "Then don't pull this 'I'm your superior, I can do what I want' crap with me!"
Grissom stared at her furious face for a long silent moment, thinking, This is Sara, this is my wife, this is my friend, this is my co-worker. This is the woman I have promised to spend my life with, this is my world. She is not a suspect, she is upset, I am upset. This is Sara. He could hear Brass asking Barnes more questions, but he could only see Sara, could only hear her angry breathing. "I only pulled you out because I care about you and I don't want you getting hurt. I'm sorry if I've hurt you," he said finally.
"You have," she told him, the anger fading from her voice. "When you don't trust me. . .when you question my ability to do my job objectively. . ."
"I was scared," he admitted hesitantly, to himself as well as to Sara. "It had nothing to do with your competency at all. I was afraid that you were getting too close. I didn't want Barnes hurting you any more than he already has."
"You know what hurts me the most, more than anything he could ever do to me?" When he shook his head, she continued, "When you are being just as much of an asshole as Barnes. I hate you when you're like that, and I don't want to hate you."
"I don't want you to hate me," Grissom said. "I would never want you to hate me."
The crew-cut blond man sat staring stoically at her, refusing to answer. Grissom watched this from the other side of the observation glass, wondering again how wise it was to let her do this. Sara was this guy's victim, even if she didn't want to admit it, and generally speaking, victims were not allowed to interrogate their attackers. But she had insisted, insisted to the point where she had packed a bag and told him she was going to Catherine's until they'd figured it out.
He'd given in almost immediately.
Warrick and Nick teased him about being whipped, and yeah, he was. But whipped and with Sara was better than not whipped without her.
Grissom decided that it wasn't so bad to have her questioning him. Besides, if anything went wrong, Brass was in there, along with Tony Dodd. Gary Barnes, you poor bastard, he thought, you're trapped in that room with a very angry victim, and two very angry cops. I'd pity you if I didn't hate you so much.
"I'd answer her," Dodd drawled. "You owe her that much."
"I don't owe that bitch anything," Barnes growled, his voice rough.
Grissom turned away from the mirror as Dodd's fist landed with a crunch on Barnes' face. His new policy when it came to this case was: if I didn't see it, it didn't happen.
"Don't call her a bitch again," Tony warned.
Barnes snorted out blood. "Wait until I tell my lawyer," he coughed.
Brass jumped in with, "Oh, your court-appointed defender? He won't be here for another hour."
"A lot can happen in an hour," Sara told Barnes. "Fights break out in prison all the time. . .but you wouldn't know anything about that, would you? You're a decent guy, little temper problem but not so serious. . .until you mess with the wrong guy. What do we know? You were in lockup for the last, what? Forty minutes?" She shrugged, her voice taking on a tone Grissom had never heard before and never wanted to hear again. "A broken nose is not the worst that can happen in a prison brawl, remember that."
"So, if you don't mind too much, Gary, you're going to answer her questions," Brass ordered.
Barnes glared at the brunette, wiped away some of the blood with the back of his shackled hand. "Fine."
"Gary," she started, leaning up against the table. "I think we're familiar enough with each other to cut through all this crap, so I only have one question. Be warned, it's in quite a few parts."
"Shoot," he challenged.
"Why'd you use your brother to get to me?" Her voice took on a hypnotic resonance, one that made Grissom turn back to the glass. When Barnes didn't answer, she smiled. "Come on, Gary. Jerry was there, I saw him."
"Gary and Jerry," Brass interjected. "Your mom's original."
Barnes failed to take the bait, so Sara moved on to her next question. "Ever been to San Francisco?"
"City by the Bay," he shrugged. "Too foggy. I wasn't there long."
"Long enough to kill five women."
"That was Jer's gig, not mine," Barnes said.
"We have DNA that says you were there, we have a ton of evidence that puts you in the killer seat, not your brother," Sara countered. "Why lie about it? You're only hurting yourself."
He stared her down, not answering, so she continued. "How good did it feel to kill those girls, Gary? Bet it felt real nice, keeping them just alive enough to scream as you beat them, cut them, writing little messages in their backs. . .I can only imagine how good it was for you."
Alarm bells were blaring in Grissom's head. Sara, no, he thought. Don't get into his head. Don't start feeling the way he felt. Grissom could only imagine the nightmares tonight, and thought hard about going into the room and taking her out before it got any worse.
But his message was not getting through, and she continued, leaning closer into Barnes. "Picking out the perfect words for the note, making sure to tease us investigators just enough, all the while planning the next one. I bet it felt so nice to get back to Georgia after getting one in Vegas and finding that your brother had caught you another one." He voice was seductive almost, husky. She traced over her scar, nearly whispering, "You didn't have time to finish with me, so you left me a souvenir, Gary. Did you like putting that knife up against my cheek, knowing just how cold that blade was, knowing how hot it was going to be in a second? I bet you loved how I screamed when you slid that blade deep into my flesh. . ."
Sara, no. It had become Grissom's new mantra.
Barnes had closed his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. His tongue darted out, glancing over his smile. "You shrieked like a cat that's been stepped on," he said smoothly; a chill ran down Grissom's spine. "Calling out for Grissom," Barnes imitated her voice, "Grissom!"
Sara's eyes were unreadable. "And then you carved me up. You wanted to start with the back, write your message while I was still able to feel every letter, every soft-sharp slide of the knife through my skin, all the way down to the muscle. . ."
". . .It would have been incredible," he agreed, his eyes popping open to look at her. "I didn't recognize you without all the blood."
"Too bad the cops came," she replied, voice nearly regretful. Their eyes had locked, the rest of the room invisible.
"We could have had tons of fun," he replied.
They were caught in each other, Grissom realized, unable to get out of the trap they had built. It seemed like they were both getting off on it, and he rushed to pull out his cell phone and called Brass. "Get her out of there," he ordered. "She's too involved."
"Yeah, ok," Brass said absently, enthralled with the spectacle himself.
"Jim, get her out of there now!"
He watched as Brass touched Sara's arm, breaking her connection with Barnes. She blinked hard, shaking her head as she moved away from the table and out of the room. A moment later, Grissom heard the door click shut and turned, Sara was almost shaking, breathing hard. He sat her down and kneeled in front of her, she wouldn't meet his eyes.
"Sara," he whispered, trying and failing to get her attention off of Barnes.
"I don't know what happened in there, Gris," she said, staring at Barnes through the glass.
"You messed up," he snapped, and finally her face turned away from the glass. She glowered at him, eyes furious at the insinuation.
"I hardly think going in there and asking him some questions is messing up," she snapped back.
"It is when you form that kind of mental bond with your suspect!" he yelled. "You were losing your hold on him, getting into him."
"I was fine, Grissom! I was in control!"
"You were in his head, Sara, and he was in yours. You were not in control."
"I was in control!" she insisted, fury rising in her voice.
"If you were in control, I never would've pulled you out," he told her. "So don't pull that 'I was in control' crap with me."
Her jaw set, she snapped, "Then don't pull this 'I'm your superior, I can do what I want' crap with me!"
Grissom stared at her furious face for a long silent moment, thinking, This is Sara, this is my wife, this is my friend, this is my co-worker. This is the woman I have promised to spend my life with, this is my world. She is not a suspect, she is upset, I am upset. This is Sara. He could hear Brass asking Barnes more questions, but he could only see Sara, could only hear her angry breathing. "I only pulled you out because I care about you and I don't want you getting hurt. I'm sorry if I've hurt you," he said finally.
"You have," she told him, the anger fading from her voice. "When you don't trust me. . .when you question my ability to do my job objectively. . ."
"I was scared," he admitted hesitantly, to himself as well as to Sara. "It had nothing to do with your competency at all. I was afraid that you were getting too close. I didn't want Barnes hurting you any more than he already has."
"You know what hurts me the most, more than anything he could ever do to me?" When he shook his head, she continued, "When you are being just as much of an asshole as Barnes. I hate you when you're like that, and I don't want to hate you."
"I don't want you to hate me," Grissom said. "I would never want you to hate me."
