XII - WARRICK
"It's 9:45 am. Go home, everyone." Grissom looked around the break room, noting the tired and tense expressions on everyone's faces.
Sara looked up blankly from her cup of coffee for a moment, Grissom's words barely registering in her tired brain. "Huh?"
"Go home. We need to rest - come at this from a fresh angle later this evening." Grissom's voice was firm. "Be prepared - we're going to lay out the three crimes, known times - similarities - see if we can find a common clue. None of us are thinking properly right now."
"What about going to the slaughterhouse? Manager won't be in this evening, so we need to talk to him before then." Warrick looked at Grissom intently. "Want me to go later on this afternoon, before I come in?"
Grissom considered Warrick's question, his expression thoughtful. "I don't want you going by yourself."
"Why not?" Warrick kept his tone perfectly bland, but his gaze was intense.
Grissom shrugged. "Protocol, for one. Also, someone from the slaughterhouse might be involved in one or all of these crimes, and I don't think it's a good idea to send you in there by yourself."
"Obvious minority." Warrick muttered.
"Why make you a target?" Grissom responded.
Warrick shrugged. "Fine. Do you want to send someone else, or should I meet someone there before going in?"
"Meet me here at 3:30 Warrick. We'll go together." Brass had been standing off to the side, watching the exchange. He smiled when Warrick glanced up at him. "We'll take my car."
* * * * *
Greg fell asleep in Nick's truck on the way back to Nick's house. His head had lolled onto Sara's shoulder five minutes out of the parking lot, and Sara had lifted one arm up around Greg's shoulder in an effort to make him more comfortable.
"What a shift." Sara muttered.
Nick sighed in agreement. "Just be glad Grissom took the autopsy for you. That poor girl - I don't know how Doc Robbins deals with stuff like that all the time."
"Stuff like what? Dead bodies?" Sara's voice was teasingly ironic, and she squeezed Nick's knee lightly with her free hand. "Yeah - what a way to earn a living."
Nick grinned, and his right hand dropped down to hers, tangling into her fingers. "Smart ass." They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, Sara gliding her fingers on the inside of Nick's leg, just above his knee. She smiled when the muscle in his thigh flexed and glanced at him sideways through half-lowered lids.
"I'm trying to drive, Sara." Nick's voice was slightly husky, and he tightened his grip on her hand forcing it back up to his knee. "Don't distract me."
Sara sighed. "Fine, then. Can I distract you at home?"
"Maybe." Nick teased. "But I have to eat breakfast first - man cannot live on love alone."
* * * * *
Warrick walked into his apartment, sighing in disgust as he changed into a pair of ripped off sweats and an old t-shirt. He really needed to clean the place up, do some laundry - but he just hadn't had any time lately. Walking into his kitchen, he turned on the kettle and poured himself a bowl of Fruit-Loops, quickly making himself a cup of tea when the water boiled, before walking into his bedroom.
He sighed again as he sat on his bed, quickly flicking the TV on for background noise, eating his cereal without really tasting it. The news played at a low hum in the background, and Warrick watched with detachment as Mobley appeared on screen, talking about the latest crime scene from last night. The news anchor finished with the standard "Names of the victims have not been released, pending notification of the families.." Blah - blah - blah, whatever.
Warrick flicked the TV off, sighing in disgust. He had seen the crime scene photos Nick and Sara had taken, had read the names of the two victims - Scott King and Megan Carmichael. Murdered because, even in this day and age of supposed enlightenment, someone found the thought of a black man touching a white woman so offensive they had to kill.
He grabbed the phone from his side table, punching in the numbers before he even realized what he was doing, and smiled when the ringing of the phone gave way to his grandmother's whispery voice.
"Hey Grams, it's me."
"Ricky! How's my baby doing?" Warrick grinned, and knew his grandmother was smiling on the other end. She always called him her baby, even though he was a grown man a good two feet taller than her. Warrick found the casual endearment strangely comforting.
"It's going good, Grams. Just wanted to call and say hello, make sure we were still on for dinner the day after tomorrow."
"Of course we are, baby. Jeannie is going to make a fine meal for us, and she's even going to let us eat in my room on TV trays. Isn't that great?"
Warrick smiled. Jeannie was his grandmother's personal nurse aid, hired by Warrick to spend the day with his grandmother at the nursing home so she wouldn't be by herself. She was an old lady now, in her early 90s, and had totally lost her eyesight a couple of years ago. Warrick had hated having to send her to a nursing home, but she couldn't be by herself in her old house. Selling the home he had been raised in had been the hardest thing he had ever done.
"So, Jeannie's working well then, Grams? You like her?"
"Oh baby - such a nice girl. She reads to me from the Bible all day long, and in the afternoons, she takes me to the great room and plays piano for me while I sing. I just love her! But that's not why you called, Ricky. I can tell - what's the problem?"
"Just work, Grams. Just work. We've had some bad ones lately, a couple of hate crimes. I guess I've been thinking about mom a lot - and thinking about dad."
"I heard on the news with Jeannie earlier about the young couple that was killed. Is that what you're talking about?"
Warrick said nothing, but his silence provided his grandmother with the answer she needed. "Ricky, sweetheart - there's nothing you can do to keep people from hating. Look at your momma and daddy - loved each other terribly, but his folks just wouldn't accept it. Moved clear across the other side of the country to get him away from your momma. Just about broke her heart when he left."
"Why didn't he ever come back, when he was older and on his own?"
"Why is the sky blue, baby? Maybe he was scared to come back - I told you what his daddy did to him when he found out he was seeing your momma and she was pregnant - he almost beat him to death. It was the saddest thing I ever did see."
"But he could have stayed. You would have let him live with you and mom."
"I sure would have, but your daddy - he was a good man, child, but he wasn't a strong man. His daddy was rich - and he was used to having all the things money could buy. It would have been hard for him to turn his back on all that and move into our little house."
Warrick shrugged his shoulders. "Anyway, I didn't call to discuss this again. I don't know how you can be so understanding - it's his fault mom died."
"No, Ricky. It's your momma's fault she died. She let herself be beaten down emotionally and spiritually, and she let herself be weak. She let herself die because she missed him, when she should have forced herself to live because she had you and Delia- and you were the best part of him." There was a long pause. "You're thinking about Delia, aren't you?"
"Yeah. I'm just sick of all this, Grams. Mom and Dad - taboo because she was black and he was white - Delia." he stopped when he thought of his twin sister, angrily blinking back tears. "It's been almost twelve years since she died, and I still don't understand it."
He heard his grandmother sighing. "Baby, what is there to understand? But there's nothing you can do after the fact except go on. She would have told you to get over it - life's too short to have regrets, and it's too short to hate people."
"Hate crime." Warrick's voice was soft.
"Everyone is created equal under God, baby. I taught you that. But sometimes, people just can't accept that, and they look for reasons to hate someone. Sometimes, it's the color of their skin, sometimes it's the country they're from, or the god they believe in - it's not right, but it's there. Delia understood that, and she tried to make a difference. Just like you try to make a difference. In God's eyes all that matters is the size of your heart. Delia would have forgiven the man that killed her. Don't you think you should too?"
Warrick swallowed audibly. "Listen Grams, I don't - I can't talk about this right now. I'll talk to you in a couple of days - when I come for dinner. Say hi to Jeannie for me."
"Okay baby. But think about what I'm saying to you. Delia - she was an angel here on earth, and now she's one with God. She knew that loving people - even when they hurt you and hate you - is the only way to make changes. You gotta get rid of the anger, baby. Get rid of it before you become a hater too."
* * * * *
"Greggo! What are you doing up?" It was 4:30 in the afternoon, and Nick had wandered sleepily from the bedroom when he heard the muted sound of the TV coming from the living room.
Greg turned to Nick and grinned. "I slept a lot at work last night, so I wasn't too tired. I thought I'd come out here and watch a movie." He tickled DNA under the chin, set-off a chain reaction of loud purring and mews. "DNA wanted company."
Nick sat down in the overstuffed armchair, running his hands through his hair and yawning. "I thought I'd get up and start dinner." He glanced at the TV and grinned. "You're watching the Wizard of Oz?"
"Yeah." Greg blushed. "I've got a lot in common with one of the main characters now." His tone was light, but Nick looked at him sharply.
"You still think you're like the Tin Man?"
Greg shrugged. "It's a good analogy. Don't worry so much, Nick. I'm getting used to it."
"But -"
"No but's. Don't start, okay? I already got the big pep talk from Grissom and even Doc Robbins last night. And besides, I was just joking."
Nick was silent for a few minutes, watching Greg watching the munchkins welcoming Dorothy to Oz. After a few moments of strained silence, broken only by the high pitched "fa-la-la-la-la's" of several dozen munchkins, Greg sighed and turned to Nick.
"Where's Sara?"
"Still sleeping. She's beat. I thought I would get dinner going and let her rest. Were you happy to get back to the lab?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I was. It's nice to feel useful, and I'd go crazy staying here by myself. There's only so much 'Over the Rainbow' I can stand."
Nick grinned. "You have a problem with munchkins?"
Greg shook his head. "No way, man. I don't have a problem with anyone." He sighed for a minute, and then looked at Nick again. "Tough case you guys caught last night."
Nick nodded. "They're all bad, but it gets a little personal when whoever did this removes the skin from the guys' hands."
Greg grunted in agreement. "I'll never understand why some people are racists, bigots - whatever you want to call them. Can you imagine if people were offended by you and Sara dating? Because you're from Texas and she's not, or something equally as stupid?" He looked at the TV again. "I bet there are no racists in Oz."
Nick grinned. "Nope. Dorothy loved everyone."
Greg sighed. "I wish I knew her."
______
Author's Notes: Hey everyone. Hope you are all still enjoying the story - I've got a couple of interesting chapters I'm working on - including more about Warrick, some more back story on him. Please keep shooting me reviews and ideas - they all help. I'm going to have a little bit more with Doc Robbins too - if I can get it to work properly.
"It's 9:45 am. Go home, everyone." Grissom looked around the break room, noting the tired and tense expressions on everyone's faces.
Sara looked up blankly from her cup of coffee for a moment, Grissom's words barely registering in her tired brain. "Huh?"
"Go home. We need to rest - come at this from a fresh angle later this evening." Grissom's voice was firm. "Be prepared - we're going to lay out the three crimes, known times - similarities - see if we can find a common clue. None of us are thinking properly right now."
"What about going to the slaughterhouse? Manager won't be in this evening, so we need to talk to him before then." Warrick looked at Grissom intently. "Want me to go later on this afternoon, before I come in?"
Grissom considered Warrick's question, his expression thoughtful. "I don't want you going by yourself."
"Why not?" Warrick kept his tone perfectly bland, but his gaze was intense.
Grissom shrugged. "Protocol, for one. Also, someone from the slaughterhouse might be involved in one or all of these crimes, and I don't think it's a good idea to send you in there by yourself."
"Obvious minority." Warrick muttered.
"Why make you a target?" Grissom responded.
Warrick shrugged. "Fine. Do you want to send someone else, or should I meet someone there before going in?"
"Meet me here at 3:30 Warrick. We'll go together." Brass had been standing off to the side, watching the exchange. He smiled when Warrick glanced up at him. "We'll take my car."
* * * * *
Greg fell asleep in Nick's truck on the way back to Nick's house. His head had lolled onto Sara's shoulder five minutes out of the parking lot, and Sara had lifted one arm up around Greg's shoulder in an effort to make him more comfortable.
"What a shift." Sara muttered.
Nick sighed in agreement. "Just be glad Grissom took the autopsy for you. That poor girl - I don't know how Doc Robbins deals with stuff like that all the time."
"Stuff like what? Dead bodies?" Sara's voice was teasingly ironic, and she squeezed Nick's knee lightly with her free hand. "Yeah - what a way to earn a living."
Nick grinned, and his right hand dropped down to hers, tangling into her fingers. "Smart ass." They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, Sara gliding her fingers on the inside of Nick's leg, just above his knee. She smiled when the muscle in his thigh flexed and glanced at him sideways through half-lowered lids.
"I'm trying to drive, Sara." Nick's voice was slightly husky, and he tightened his grip on her hand forcing it back up to his knee. "Don't distract me."
Sara sighed. "Fine, then. Can I distract you at home?"
"Maybe." Nick teased. "But I have to eat breakfast first - man cannot live on love alone."
* * * * *
Warrick walked into his apartment, sighing in disgust as he changed into a pair of ripped off sweats and an old t-shirt. He really needed to clean the place up, do some laundry - but he just hadn't had any time lately. Walking into his kitchen, he turned on the kettle and poured himself a bowl of Fruit-Loops, quickly making himself a cup of tea when the water boiled, before walking into his bedroom.
He sighed again as he sat on his bed, quickly flicking the TV on for background noise, eating his cereal without really tasting it. The news played at a low hum in the background, and Warrick watched with detachment as Mobley appeared on screen, talking about the latest crime scene from last night. The news anchor finished with the standard "Names of the victims have not been released, pending notification of the families.." Blah - blah - blah, whatever.
Warrick flicked the TV off, sighing in disgust. He had seen the crime scene photos Nick and Sara had taken, had read the names of the two victims - Scott King and Megan Carmichael. Murdered because, even in this day and age of supposed enlightenment, someone found the thought of a black man touching a white woman so offensive they had to kill.
He grabbed the phone from his side table, punching in the numbers before he even realized what he was doing, and smiled when the ringing of the phone gave way to his grandmother's whispery voice.
"Hey Grams, it's me."
"Ricky! How's my baby doing?" Warrick grinned, and knew his grandmother was smiling on the other end. She always called him her baby, even though he was a grown man a good two feet taller than her. Warrick found the casual endearment strangely comforting.
"It's going good, Grams. Just wanted to call and say hello, make sure we were still on for dinner the day after tomorrow."
"Of course we are, baby. Jeannie is going to make a fine meal for us, and she's even going to let us eat in my room on TV trays. Isn't that great?"
Warrick smiled. Jeannie was his grandmother's personal nurse aid, hired by Warrick to spend the day with his grandmother at the nursing home so she wouldn't be by herself. She was an old lady now, in her early 90s, and had totally lost her eyesight a couple of years ago. Warrick had hated having to send her to a nursing home, but she couldn't be by herself in her old house. Selling the home he had been raised in had been the hardest thing he had ever done.
"So, Jeannie's working well then, Grams? You like her?"
"Oh baby - such a nice girl. She reads to me from the Bible all day long, and in the afternoons, she takes me to the great room and plays piano for me while I sing. I just love her! But that's not why you called, Ricky. I can tell - what's the problem?"
"Just work, Grams. Just work. We've had some bad ones lately, a couple of hate crimes. I guess I've been thinking about mom a lot - and thinking about dad."
"I heard on the news with Jeannie earlier about the young couple that was killed. Is that what you're talking about?"
Warrick said nothing, but his silence provided his grandmother with the answer she needed. "Ricky, sweetheart - there's nothing you can do to keep people from hating. Look at your momma and daddy - loved each other terribly, but his folks just wouldn't accept it. Moved clear across the other side of the country to get him away from your momma. Just about broke her heart when he left."
"Why didn't he ever come back, when he was older and on his own?"
"Why is the sky blue, baby? Maybe he was scared to come back - I told you what his daddy did to him when he found out he was seeing your momma and she was pregnant - he almost beat him to death. It was the saddest thing I ever did see."
"But he could have stayed. You would have let him live with you and mom."
"I sure would have, but your daddy - he was a good man, child, but he wasn't a strong man. His daddy was rich - and he was used to having all the things money could buy. It would have been hard for him to turn his back on all that and move into our little house."
Warrick shrugged his shoulders. "Anyway, I didn't call to discuss this again. I don't know how you can be so understanding - it's his fault mom died."
"No, Ricky. It's your momma's fault she died. She let herself be beaten down emotionally and spiritually, and she let herself be weak. She let herself die because she missed him, when she should have forced herself to live because she had you and Delia- and you were the best part of him." There was a long pause. "You're thinking about Delia, aren't you?"
"Yeah. I'm just sick of all this, Grams. Mom and Dad - taboo because she was black and he was white - Delia." he stopped when he thought of his twin sister, angrily blinking back tears. "It's been almost twelve years since she died, and I still don't understand it."
He heard his grandmother sighing. "Baby, what is there to understand? But there's nothing you can do after the fact except go on. She would have told you to get over it - life's too short to have regrets, and it's too short to hate people."
"Hate crime." Warrick's voice was soft.
"Everyone is created equal under God, baby. I taught you that. But sometimes, people just can't accept that, and they look for reasons to hate someone. Sometimes, it's the color of their skin, sometimes it's the country they're from, or the god they believe in - it's not right, but it's there. Delia understood that, and she tried to make a difference. Just like you try to make a difference. In God's eyes all that matters is the size of your heart. Delia would have forgiven the man that killed her. Don't you think you should too?"
Warrick swallowed audibly. "Listen Grams, I don't - I can't talk about this right now. I'll talk to you in a couple of days - when I come for dinner. Say hi to Jeannie for me."
"Okay baby. But think about what I'm saying to you. Delia - she was an angel here on earth, and now she's one with God. She knew that loving people - even when they hurt you and hate you - is the only way to make changes. You gotta get rid of the anger, baby. Get rid of it before you become a hater too."
* * * * *
"Greggo! What are you doing up?" It was 4:30 in the afternoon, and Nick had wandered sleepily from the bedroom when he heard the muted sound of the TV coming from the living room.
Greg turned to Nick and grinned. "I slept a lot at work last night, so I wasn't too tired. I thought I'd come out here and watch a movie." He tickled DNA under the chin, set-off a chain reaction of loud purring and mews. "DNA wanted company."
Nick sat down in the overstuffed armchair, running his hands through his hair and yawning. "I thought I'd get up and start dinner." He glanced at the TV and grinned. "You're watching the Wizard of Oz?"
"Yeah." Greg blushed. "I've got a lot in common with one of the main characters now." His tone was light, but Nick looked at him sharply.
"You still think you're like the Tin Man?"
Greg shrugged. "It's a good analogy. Don't worry so much, Nick. I'm getting used to it."
"But -"
"No but's. Don't start, okay? I already got the big pep talk from Grissom and even Doc Robbins last night. And besides, I was just joking."
Nick was silent for a few minutes, watching Greg watching the munchkins welcoming Dorothy to Oz. After a few moments of strained silence, broken only by the high pitched "fa-la-la-la-la's" of several dozen munchkins, Greg sighed and turned to Nick.
"Where's Sara?"
"Still sleeping. She's beat. I thought I would get dinner going and let her rest. Were you happy to get back to the lab?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I was. It's nice to feel useful, and I'd go crazy staying here by myself. There's only so much 'Over the Rainbow' I can stand."
Nick grinned. "You have a problem with munchkins?"
Greg shook his head. "No way, man. I don't have a problem with anyone." He sighed for a minute, and then looked at Nick again. "Tough case you guys caught last night."
Nick nodded. "They're all bad, but it gets a little personal when whoever did this removes the skin from the guys' hands."
Greg grunted in agreement. "I'll never understand why some people are racists, bigots - whatever you want to call them. Can you imagine if people were offended by you and Sara dating? Because you're from Texas and she's not, or something equally as stupid?" He looked at the TV again. "I bet there are no racists in Oz."
Nick grinned. "Nope. Dorothy loved everyone."
Greg sighed. "I wish I knew her."
______
Author's Notes: Hey everyone. Hope you are all still enjoying the story - I've got a couple of interesting chapters I'm working on - including more about Warrick, some more back story on him. Please keep shooting me reviews and ideas - they all help. I'm going to have a little bit more with Doc Robbins too - if I can get it to work properly.