Author's Note: I'll update again in a couple of days I promise! So I hope this will hold you until then, and for all you copyright lawyers out there: Most of the characters belong to CSI, CBS and all those rich people. I am a lowly University student; please don't sue.
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Grissom was growing frustrated. He and Catherine had been dusting for prints for almost half an hour, and they had nothing. He couldn't say he was surprised; in a public place like this most of the prints overlapped. Warrick was trying to get some tire prints on the van, but they had parked on concrete, and there was little for him to go on. The witnesses had left. The only person remaining was the bank teller. He had stayed to file some paperwork and to make note of what had been stolen. He was on the phone right now, probably with the manager. At that moment, Grissom's own phone began to ring.
"Gris?" Sara's voice floated across the line when he answered. 'I think we might finally have something here. We enlarged the tape, and one of the guys, I think he's the leader, has a tattoo on the back of his neck. We could only see part of it, but it's pretty distinctive: A serpent, or snake with a crown on its head. It's actually kinda cool, not that I would ever…"
"Sara!" Grissom sounded impatient. "You're starting to sound like Greg. And let me tell you that incessant rambling doesn't suit you. So either tell me what you got, or go and play some of that God-awful music that Sanders is always listening to"
"Fine. There's no need to be testy. As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, is that I ran the tat, to see anyone with a tattoo like that had any priors. And lucky me, I found him: One Isaac King, 35 years old, been in and out of trouble with the law for years."
"Very good Sara! Now please tell me we have an address or something to work with"
Sara frowned. Her news wasn't that good. "Well, Brass sent some of his guys to check out King's last known address, but the place was deserted. Neighbours said about two months ago King took off. Said he was going to move in with some friends."
"Did they say who?" Grissom was growing more frustrated by the minute. They had a suspect, but no way of finding him.
"The neighbours didn't know. But I looked up King's priors, and it seems that he and the same three guys keep getting themselves into trouble. A few of years ago they were all arrested for assault with a deadly weapon – some bar room brawl turned ugly – but they plead to a reduced sentence. And a couple of his buddies did some time for knocking off a gas station a couple of years ago."
"Give me their names and fax us over the pictures. I can ask the bank teller if he recognizes them and if they said anything that might help us"
"You're grasping at straws Grissom. If the teller knew anything he would have said so."
"Sara, right now I'll grasp just about any lead we can get. The more time we waste, the worse our chances are of finding Nick and Greg…" He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.
Alive. That's what he wanted to say and Sara knew it. "Ok, you ready to write this down?" she asked, trying to contain her emotions. "Their names are Randy Harris, Al Copeland, and Brian Morrison."
Grissom thanked Sara and hung up. He headed over to Catherine.
"We might have a lead. Sara managed to track down the names of some of our guy's buddies. I'm going to talk to the teller right…" He trailed off for the second time in five minutes. His eyes had landed on the nameplate on the teller's door.
Al Morrison.
Grissom stared at it. The teller was on the phone again, and he was talking excitedly to someone. As Grissom watched, Al glanced furtively around, and shot a nervous look out the window at him and Catherine.
Al Morrison.
Was it just a coincidence? Grissom wondered. Or had they been played for fools? Had Al Copeland adopted a new identity and borrowed his new last name from one of his best friends?
Grissom leaned into Catherine. "Cat, how many times has he been on the phone in the last half hour?"
"At least six. He hangs up, waits and tries again a few minutes later. Why?"
Grissom gritted his teeth. "Get Warrick in here" was all he said.
Warrick entered moments later. Both he and Catherine were completely confused.
"Grissom, what's going on?" Catherine had a feeling that Grissom knew something important.
"Catherine, Warrick. Look at the names on this list, and then look at the teller's nameplate. Tell me if you notice anything"
He watched as his team mates put it all together.
"Inside job" said Warrick in a voice barely above a whisper.
Grissom nodded. His eyes met Catherine's and he saw that the guilt he was feeling was reflected in her eyes as well. He had told the teller that the hostages worked for him. Catherine had told him that Greg was not deaf, that it was an act. They had given him information that could jeopardize Nick and Greg's lives. Grissom and Catherine may have signed the death warrant.
"Follow me, and say nothing" With that, Grissom headed into Al's office.
"Mr., Morrison is it? I have a couple of really quick questions for you. I was just wondering if you saw the vehicle that the criminals left in? I mean any information would be helpful.
The teller smiled wanly at them. "I wish I could help you, but I didn't see the van. I couldn't even tell you what color it is."
Catherine spoke. "But you did tell us it was a van. We only asked if you saw the vehicle. How then, did you know it was a van?" Her smile was hard and unforgiving. She had him.
He faltered 'Well, I mean, I guess it was a van, I mean that would make sense right? I mean…" Grissom interrupted him then.
"Who were you on the phone with just now? You've been awful anxious to reach them"
Al licked his lips nervously. "Um, that was my wife. I just wanted to tell her everything is Ok and that I'll be home soon"
"Well then you won't mind if we just call her back and assure her that everything is fine" Warrick reached for the phone.
"NO! They'll kill me if they find out you know!"
Grissom grabbed Copeland by the front of the shirt and pulled him close. "You listen to me. We already have you on aiding and abetting fugitives. Don't make us add accomplice to murder to the list".
Copeland let out a high, unnatural laugh. "Well you'll have to. I called them. I told them everything – everything that YOU told me. Your friends are as good as dead."
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Across town, in an abandoned warehouse, Isaac King pulled open the door to the room in which Greg and Nick were talking.