XXV - PROPULSID
Oscar Fennil was a particularly odious person. Grissom had come to this conclusion after an initial short interview with the young man, who had refused to say anything other than "Get me a lawyer", and "I know my rights." He hadn't even blinked when confronted with the fact that they had found the syringe, which almost certainly had his fingerprints on it. He had merely shrugged, "So. It just proves I had a syringe in my drum kit."
At Brass' suggestion, Grissom had left the room to cool down. Oscar had called his parents, who had called a lawyer, who was on his way. Until they could make Oscar squirm, they would not be finding out anything from him. And with every minute that passed, Grissom's concern for Greg increased.
Sara had given everyone a quick briefing on what Nick had told her about Greg's condition, which was basically nothing. No one really knew what was going on. When she had asked for permission to take Nick his field kit and camera so he could process Greg, Grissom had said no.
Instead, he had sent Warrick, and he knew Sara was upset with him, but Grissom had his reasons. The biggest one was consideration for Greg. Processing a victim was an invasive procedure, and if - when - Greg got better, Grissom didn't want him to have to be embarrassed about anything. And Greg would be embarrassed at the thought of Sara taking pictures of him and thoroughly examining his body for indications of needle marks. Grissom wanted to leave Greg with whatever dignity he could.
He wandered down the hallway and looked into the lab. Sara and Catherine were standing there, breathing over Vincent's shoulder, waiting for results for the Tox report. Off to the side, Grissom saw the computer monitor flashing match, and two fingerprints. He smiled. There was at least one nail in Oscar's coffin. Sighing, he walked into the lab.
Catherine smiled at him gently, before turning anxious eyes back to Vincent. Sara also smiled at Grissom, walking over to him. "I understand why you didn't let me go. Have you heard anything?"
Grissom shook his head. "Nothing. If they don't call within the next 10 minutes, I'll call them. How close are we to getting the breakdown?"
Vincent shrugged. "Almost done. Give me another minute."
The silence was overwhelming, and the release of tension when the computer finally spit out the results was palpable.
Grissom read the results with anger. "Cocaine. And Propulsid."
"Propulsid? Wasn't that banned by the FDA a couple of years ago?" Sara's voice was shaky.
Grissom nodded. "It's been known to cause irregular heartbeats and sudden death." His voice was grim.
Catherine sighed. "And when mixed with cocaine - a major stimulant -" she stopped talking and looked at Grissom with tears in her eyes. "Greg's in serious trouble."
* * * * *
Nick and Warrick had found the small needle mark on Greg's upper left hand shoulder fairly quickly. The pale skin on Greg's shoulder had been bruised, and the dot of blood at the insertion point had made it easy to spot.
Dr. Jansen, who had been observing them work, quickly stepped forward and inspected the mark.
"This went right into his muscle. No finesse there. I might be able to excise some of the area to determine what drug was used. It may be faster than testing the blood."
The sudden beeping of a pager caused all three men to jump. "Mine!" Nick exclaimed, checking the number. "Grissom. Maybe he has some news for us. Excuse me." Nick turned and strode out of the room to the nearest bank of pay phones. He had already been told once - politely, but firmly - no cell phone use in the hospital.
* * * * *
When Nick returned five minutes later, Warrick was sitting beside Greg, talking to him. "I'm sure Grissom is arresting Oscar right now, Greggo, so don't worry about that. We know he drugged you with something, and we're trying to figure out what, but you gotta fight, man. Don't give up!"
"Hey." Nick walked to the other side of the bed. Greg looked impossibly pale against the white sheets of the hospital bed and Nick found the hiss of oxygen and beeping of the heart monitor was obscene. "That was Grissom. They know what was used. Where's Dr. Jansen."
Warrick kept his gaze firmly fixed on Greg. "He'll be back in a minute. He wanted to see if some test results were back yet."
Nick sighed and sat down across from Warrick, on Greg's opposite side. "Did you know Greg was a foster child?" At Warrick's surprised glance, Nick nodded. "Told me today. He's been in foster care since he was a little kid. Never knew his dad. Mom OD'd when he was nine. He's been on his own since he was sixteen." Nick felt his eyes tear up again, and his voice got harsh. "He's a fighter, War. He'll be okay. He told me today he thought of us as his family."
Warrick blinked rapidly, trying to hide the tears in his own eyes. "He would be laughing his ass off if he could see us right now - two grown men crying like babies."
Nick laughed softly, wiping his eyes and sniffling at the same time. "Did I tell you he bought a great big translucent green tackle box to us as his field kit? I suggested a black one, but he said 'why be like everyone else.'" The two men stared at their friend silently. "He's gotta be okay, Warrick. I'm just really getting to know him."
Dr. Jansen strode back into the room, observing the two men. They both turned to him, trying to hide their tears, and Nick stood up.
"We got the results back on the syringe they found. Cocaine and Propulsid."
Dr. Jansen nodded. "That confirms my findings. I called a friend of mine a couple of minutes ago - he's on his way over. He's a heart specialist. Greg is suffering from ventricular tachycardia - his lower heart chambers are beating too quickly, which is causing his low blood pressure and heart arrhythmia." He looked at Nick and Warrick before looking at his chart again. "Propulsid was taken off the market by the FDA because it's been known to cause this. The cocaine wouldn't have helped matters. Did you find out the size of the syringe? It would be nice to know how many cc's max we may be dealing with."
Nick shook his head. "I didn't ask. Do you want me to call back and find out?"
"Eventually, yes. Step outside with me for a second." The three men left Greg, stepping quickly out into the hallway. "I'm not going to lie to you. I think his heart will probably be greatly damaged by this. That's why I called Dr. Mellows. We did an ultrasound earlier when Greg was first brought in, and Greg's heart is showing signs of permanent scarring. I think - and Mellows concurs - that we're going to have to implant a defibrillator to get his heart stabilized."
"Does that work like a pacemaker?" Warrick's tone was worried.
Dr. Jansen nodded. "Yes and no. A pacemaker speeds up a slow heart. This device I'm talking about will slow down a heartbeat that's too fast, or speed it up if it's too slow. It runs on electrical impulses, and will be monitored at all times by a professional. The thing is -" he stopped, looking at the two men with concern. "The thing is, this is a permanent device. Once he has it implanted, it stays there. He'll need to make some lifestyle adjustments, go in for monitoring - regular check-ups, that sort of thing. He'll need to adjust to it physically as well as mentally." He held up his hands before Warrick or Nick could interrupt. "I'm not saying he won't live a perfectly normal lifestyle after we do this, but he will need a lot of support to get him there."
"Isn't there something else you could do? Medication? Anything?" Nick's voice was agitated. Warrick put a steadying hand on his arm, gripping tightly.
Dr. Jansen shook his head. "No. The damage is too great. Without this, he will more than likely die. His heart is under a great deal of strain right now, and it could give at any minute. If we don't do this - the sooner the better - he will definitely go into cardiac arrest. Dr. Mellows is prepared to take him right into surgery the minute he arrives." He looked at the men reassuringly. "I can get you pamphlets - information on the device, the surgery - support groups for your friend. If there was any other option, I would do it."
Nick turned away from him, leaning his forehead against the cool brick of the hallway. "Do it then. We're trusting you."
* * * * *
Grissom was just getting off the phone with Warrick when Brass came into his office. "Fennils' lawyer's here. We can question him now." He looked at the phone in Grissom's hand. "Was that about Greg?"
Grissom nodded. "Warrick. He didn't go into particulars, but Greg's condition is not good. They're prepping him for surgery right now, and they're going to be implanting a defibrillator to try to correct his heart beat. Ventricular Tachycardia." He looked at Brass, his eyes bleak. "How am I going to tell Catherine and Sara?"
Brass sighed. "Cripes. I don't know what to say, Grissom. I want to nail this little rat-bastard so hard he doesn't know what hit him."
Grissom smiled grimly. "Let's go then. I've been thinking about something that Greg said before he collapsed, and I have an idea."
* * * * *
Oscar Fennil sat smugly besides his lawyer. "I don't need to answer your questions."
Grissom agreed with him. "No, you don't. And that's fine. We know you killed Rivers, Waters, Phillips and Murdoch and we have the police heading to your apartment with a warrant right now. I'm pretty confident we'll find Rivers fingertips there somewhere, perhaps an old prescription of Propulsid. You're not as smart as you think, Oscar."
Oscar stiffened, glaring at Grissom. "I'm smarter than you, old man. And I didn't do it."
Brass smiled. "No one is smarter than Grissom, Oscar. All those conversations you participated in with Greg and Dave, and you never learned that? You should have paid more attention."
"I have to admit, it was smart using water on the envelope and stamp - you didn't leave any DNA evidence there. But look at it from our perspective: you were angry at being barred from the Battle of the Bands - we have several witnesses who have relayed that information. So, you decided to kill the judges.
"From listening to Greg talking about work, you learned a fair amount about how Crime Scene Investigations are run. But you left fingerprints all over a major clue - the letter you sent Phillips. Evidence shows Murdoch was shot by someone on the stage. You were on the stage. Not only that, the gun used to kill Murdoch was found at the shooting range you work at. We've already matched the casing found at the crime scene. And as far as Nick goes, we found the syringe. You're fingerprints are all over it. We know you drugged Greg."
Oscar shrugged. "I'll admit to drugging Greg. Big fucking deal. Arrest me for that. But you have no physical evidence linking me to any of these other murders - just a pile of circumstantial crap. A writing analysis will prove I didn't write that letter, and lots of people have access to the guns at the shooting range."
"You got me there, Oscar. For the time being, it is all circumstantial. But that will change. We have detectives heading to your apartment right now with a search warrant. I'm betting we'll find Rivers fingertips in your freezer - maybe even the knife you used to slice them off and kill Waters with. I'm also betting they'll find something - a grocery list - a song you're working on - where the writing will match." He leaned towards Oscar, a feral grin on his face. "Greg told me before he collapsed just how much you liked his shirt, Oscar. I know you're ambidextrous. And I know something else too - even if - by some chance, you manage to get off for murdering the first four men, you'll get serious time for attacking an officer of the court. And if he dies, you'll get the death penalty."
Oscar looked rattled for a second, before responding coolly. "Greg's not a police officer, he's just a glorified science geek."
Brass grinned. "Didn't you hear? Greg was promoted a couple of days ago. He's the newest member of our night shift CSI team - criminalist in training, affording him all the rights and privileges of a full-fledged officer of the LVPD. You attacked an officer, Oscar. So you better hope he survives."
______
Author's note: This story wraps up in the next chapter or so. Just to warn you. The Greg situation calls for a story of it's own, so I'm working on a draft now. There will be a sequel. For those of you emailing me to find out the name of Sara's kitten, wait and see!
PROPULSID is a real drug that was banned by the FDA after being linked to several deaths in the USA. Class-action lawsuits are still ongoing. All the information on Greg's condition, including info. on implantable defibrillator's can be found on the world wide web.
Oscar Fennil was a particularly odious person. Grissom had come to this conclusion after an initial short interview with the young man, who had refused to say anything other than "Get me a lawyer", and "I know my rights." He hadn't even blinked when confronted with the fact that they had found the syringe, which almost certainly had his fingerprints on it. He had merely shrugged, "So. It just proves I had a syringe in my drum kit."
At Brass' suggestion, Grissom had left the room to cool down. Oscar had called his parents, who had called a lawyer, who was on his way. Until they could make Oscar squirm, they would not be finding out anything from him. And with every minute that passed, Grissom's concern for Greg increased.
Sara had given everyone a quick briefing on what Nick had told her about Greg's condition, which was basically nothing. No one really knew what was going on. When she had asked for permission to take Nick his field kit and camera so he could process Greg, Grissom had said no.
Instead, he had sent Warrick, and he knew Sara was upset with him, but Grissom had his reasons. The biggest one was consideration for Greg. Processing a victim was an invasive procedure, and if - when - Greg got better, Grissom didn't want him to have to be embarrassed about anything. And Greg would be embarrassed at the thought of Sara taking pictures of him and thoroughly examining his body for indications of needle marks. Grissom wanted to leave Greg with whatever dignity he could.
He wandered down the hallway and looked into the lab. Sara and Catherine were standing there, breathing over Vincent's shoulder, waiting for results for the Tox report. Off to the side, Grissom saw the computer monitor flashing match, and two fingerprints. He smiled. There was at least one nail in Oscar's coffin. Sighing, he walked into the lab.
Catherine smiled at him gently, before turning anxious eyes back to Vincent. Sara also smiled at Grissom, walking over to him. "I understand why you didn't let me go. Have you heard anything?"
Grissom shook his head. "Nothing. If they don't call within the next 10 minutes, I'll call them. How close are we to getting the breakdown?"
Vincent shrugged. "Almost done. Give me another minute."
The silence was overwhelming, and the release of tension when the computer finally spit out the results was palpable.
Grissom read the results with anger. "Cocaine. And Propulsid."
"Propulsid? Wasn't that banned by the FDA a couple of years ago?" Sara's voice was shaky.
Grissom nodded. "It's been known to cause irregular heartbeats and sudden death." His voice was grim.
Catherine sighed. "And when mixed with cocaine - a major stimulant -" she stopped talking and looked at Grissom with tears in her eyes. "Greg's in serious trouble."
* * * * *
Nick and Warrick had found the small needle mark on Greg's upper left hand shoulder fairly quickly. The pale skin on Greg's shoulder had been bruised, and the dot of blood at the insertion point had made it easy to spot.
Dr. Jansen, who had been observing them work, quickly stepped forward and inspected the mark.
"This went right into his muscle. No finesse there. I might be able to excise some of the area to determine what drug was used. It may be faster than testing the blood."
The sudden beeping of a pager caused all three men to jump. "Mine!" Nick exclaimed, checking the number. "Grissom. Maybe he has some news for us. Excuse me." Nick turned and strode out of the room to the nearest bank of pay phones. He had already been told once - politely, but firmly - no cell phone use in the hospital.
* * * * *
When Nick returned five minutes later, Warrick was sitting beside Greg, talking to him. "I'm sure Grissom is arresting Oscar right now, Greggo, so don't worry about that. We know he drugged you with something, and we're trying to figure out what, but you gotta fight, man. Don't give up!"
"Hey." Nick walked to the other side of the bed. Greg looked impossibly pale against the white sheets of the hospital bed and Nick found the hiss of oxygen and beeping of the heart monitor was obscene. "That was Grissom. They know what was used. Where's Dr. Jansen."
Warrick kept his gaze firmly fixed on Greg. "He'll be back in a minute. He wanted to see if some test results were back yet."
Nick sighed and sat down across from Warrick, on Greg's opposite side. "Did you know Greg was a foster child?" At Warrick's surprised glance, Nick nodded. "Told me today. He's been in foster care since he was a little kid. Never knew his dad. Mom OD'd when he was nine. He's been on his own since he was sixteen." Nick felt his eyes tear up again, and his voice got harsh. "He's a fighter, War. He'll be okay. He told me today he thought of us as his family."
Warrick blinked rapidly, trying to hide the tears in his own eyes. "He would be laughing his ass off if he could see us right now - two grown men crying like babies."
Nick laughed softly, wiping his eyes and sniffling at the same time. "Did I tell you he bought a great big translucent green tackle box to us as his field kit? I suggested a black one, but he said 'why be like everyone else.'" The two men stared at their friend silently. "He's gotta be okay, Warrick. I'm just really getting to know him."
Dr. Jansen strode back into the room, observing the two men. They both turned to him, trying to hide their tears, and Nick stood up.
"We got the results back on the syringe they found. Cocaine and Propulsid."
Dr. Jansen nodded. "That confirms my findings. I called a friend of mine a couple of minutes ago - he's on his way over. He's a heart specialist. Greg is suffering from ventricular tachycardia - his lower heart chambers are beating too quickly, which is causing his low blood pressure and heart arrhythmia." He looked at Nick and Warrick before looking at his chart again. "Propulsid was taken off the market by the FDA because it's been known to cause this. The cocaine wouldn't have helped matters. Did you find out the size of the syringe? It would be nice to know how many cc's max we may be dealing with."
Nick shook his head. "I didn't ask. Do you want me to call back and find out?"
"Eventually, yes. Step outside with me for a second." The three men left Greg, stepping quickly out into the hallway. "I'm not going to lie to you. I think his heart will probably be greatly damaged by this. That's why I called Dr. Mellows. We did an ultrasound earlier when Greg was first brought in, and Greg's heart is showing signs of permanent scarring. I think - and Mellows concurs - that we're going to have to implant a defibrillator to get his heart stabilized."
"Does that work like a pacemaker?" Warrick's tone was worried.
Dr. Jansen nodded. "Yes and no. A pacemaker speeds up a slow heart. This device I'm talking about will slow down a heartbeat that's too fast, or speed it up if it's too slow. It runs on electrical impulses, and will be monitored at all times by a professional. The thing is -" he stopped, looking at the two men with concern. "The thing is, this is a permanent device. Once he has it implanted, it stays there. He'll need to make some lifestyle adjustments, go in for monitoring - regular check-ups, that sort of thing. He'll need to adjust to it physically as well as mentally." He held up his hands before Warrick or Nick could interrupt. "I'm not saying he won't live a perfectly normal lifestyle after we do this, but he will need a lot of support to get him there."
"Isn't there something else you could do? Medication? Anything?" Nick's voice was agitated. Warrick put a steadying hand on his arm, gripping tightly.
Dr. Jansen shook his head. "No. The damage is too great. Without this, he will more than likely die. His heart is under a great deal of strain right now, and it could give at any minute. If we don't do this - the sooner the better - he will definitely go into cardiac arrest. Dr. Mellows is prepared to take him right into surgery the minute he arrives." He looked at the men reassuringly. "I can get you pamphlets - information on the device, the surgery - support groups for your friend. If there was any other option, I would do it."
Nick turned away from him, leaning his forehead against the cool brick of the hallway. "Do it then. We're trusting you."
* * * * *
Grissom was just getting off the phone with Warrick when Brass came into his office. "Fennils' lawyer's here. We can question him now." He looked at the phone in Grissom's hand. "Was that about Greg?"
Grissom nodded. "Warrick. He didn't go into particulars, but Greg's condition is not good. They're prepping him for surgery right now, and they're going to be implanting a defibrillator to try to correct his heart beat. Ventricular Tachycardia." He looked at Brass, his eyes bleak. "How am I going to tell Catherine and Sara?"
Brass sighed. "Cripes. I don't know what to say, Grissom. I want to nail this little rat-bastard so hard he doesn't know what hit him."
Grissom smiled grimly. "Let's go then. I've been thinking about something that Greg said before he collapsed, and I have an idea."
* * * * *
Oscar Fennil sat smugly besides his lawyer. "I don't need to answer your questions."
Grissom agreed with him. "No, you don't. And that's fine. We know you killed Rivers, Waters, Phillips and Murdoch and we have the police heading to your apartment with a warrant right now. I'm pretty confident we'll find Rivers fingertips there somewhere, perhaps an old prescription of Propulsid. You're not as smart as you think, Oscar."
Oscar stiffened, glaring at Grissom. "I'm smarter than you, old man. And I didn't do it."
Brass smiled. "No one is smarter than Grissom, Oscar. All those conversations you participated in with Greg and Dave, and you never learned that? You should have paid more attention."
"I have to admit, it was smart using water on the envelope and stamp - you didn't leave any DNA evidence there. But look at it from our perspective: you were angry at being barred from the Battle of the Bands - we have several witnesses who have relayed that information. So, you decided to kill the judges.
"From listening to Greg talking about work, you learned a fair amount about how Crime Scene Investigations are run. But you left fingerprints all over a major clue - the letter you sent Phillips. Evidence shows Murdoch was shot by someone on the stage. You were on the stage. Not only that, the gun used to kill Murdoch was found at the shooting range you work at. We've already matched the casing found at the crime scene. And as far as Nick goes, we found the syringe. You're fingerprints are all over it. We know you drugged Greg."
Oscar shrugged. "I'll admit to drugging Greg. Big fucking deal. Arrest me for that. But you have no physical evidence linking me to any of these other murders - just a pile of circumstantial crap. A writing analysis will prove I didn't write that letter, and lots of people have access to the guns at the shooting range."
"You got me there, Oscar. For the time being, it is all circumstantial. But that will change. We have detectives heading to your apartment right now with a search warrant. I'm betting we'll find Rivers fingertips in your freezer - maybe even the knife you used to slice them off and kill Waters with. I'm also betting they'll find something - a grocery list - a song you're working on - where the writing will match." He leaned towards Oscar, a feral grin on his face. "Greg told me before he collapsed just how much you liked his shirt, Oscar. I know you're ambidextrous. And I know something else too - even if - by some chance, you manage to get off for murdering the first four men, you'll get serious time for attacking an officer of the court. And if he dies, you'll get the death penalty."
Oscar looked rattled for a second, before responding coolly. "Greg's not a police officer, he's just a glorified science geek."
Brass grinned. "Didn't you hear? Greg was promoted a couple of days ago. He's the newest member of our night shift CSI team - criminalist in training, affording him all the rights and privileges of a full-fledged officer of the LVPD. You attacked an officer, Oscar. So you better hope he survives."
______
Author's note: This story wraps up in the next chapter or so. Just to warn you. The Greg situation calls for a story of it's own, so I'm working on a draft now. There will be a sequel. For those of you emailing me to find out the name of Sara's kitten, wait and see!
PROPULSID is a real drug that was banned by the FDA after being linked to several deaths in the USA. Class-action lawsuits are still ongoing. All the information on Greg's condition, including info. on implantable defibrillator's can be found on the world wide web.