This story is based on characters created by Anthony E. Zuiker for the television series CSI: Crime Scene Investigation.

Ghost (Part 14/26)

by Cheers

Monday Morning 08:43 AM

This work was best done with little more than a flashlight and a good pair of eyes. Nick and Warrick had decided to split up. Nick took the top of the stairwell while Warrick started at the bottom. They worked toward each other on hands and knees, one step at a time.

The waffle-patterned grooves of the metal steps managed to catch just about anything that could be scrapped off the bottom of a shoe. Nick had no difficulty collecting multiple samples of dirt and bits of asphalt or glass. It remained to be seen if anything that he found was similar to what Warrick collected in the suspect vehicle.

Warrick had the same problem. There was no shortage of dirt, soil, glass, plastic, and metal bits found. He knew he was looking for black glass and did find that. He also found green, clear and brown glass. He took samples of every kind of glass present.

"How's it going?" Warrick asked Nick as he moved up the stairs to the next landing. Nick was midway down the last flight of steps to be searched.

"Well, I did find some bits of dark glass," Nick told him. "We'll have to take it back to the lab to see if we're even in the ballpark, though."

Warrick nodded. "Yeah, I had the same problem." He looked up the stairwell. "Did you have a chance to check the hallway and entryway yet?"

Nick shook his head. "Not yet. I've still got this last bit."

"Got it. I guess I should start upstairs," Warrick suggested.

"Okay, partner," Nick nodded standing up and stretching his back. "I'll join you as soon as I'm done down here."

Warrick turned to head up the stairs.

"Hey, Warrick?" Nick waited for Warrick to look back at him. "You know, I can't help wondering what Gris would think about us doing what we're doing."

"What. You mean investigating his disappearance?" Warrick asked.

"No, man," Nick replied. "I mean combing through his life like we would a suspect's."

"What do you think he'd do if it were one of us?"

Nick shrugged. "This is different."

Warrick's forehead tensed. "Because it's Grissom? How does that make it different?"

Nick narrowed his gaze. "Are you trying to tell me that you don't feel … weird doing this?"

"No, I feel it too," Warrick admitted. He did feel it. Maybe too much. He hadn't thought about much else since the discussion with Sara, despite what he told her. "But worrying about it will only make us go gray."

Nick smirked a little. "Like we both haven't already added some of that to Grissom's head."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Warrick always wondered why Gris hadn't fired him. Just the look of disappointment on his boss's face two years ago had been enough to make him wish Grissom had.

The look on his friend's face told Nick he had hit a sore spot that obviously hadn't healed. "Hey, man, I didn't mean…."

"Don't sweat it." Warrick said immediately. "I'm going to go up and get started on the entryway," he said, wanting to get away without offending.

Nick nodded and said no more. Warrick headed up the stairs. When he reached the front door of Grissom's house, he pulled a new pair of latex gloves out of his back pocket and donned them. Using his pocket knife, Warrick cut the Crime Lab seal and opened the door.

There was a quiet in the house that was a bit unnerving. Warrick had been here before. They all had. The dwelling gave the impression of a nineteenth-century academic. A mind more than a man seemed to lived here. A very active and interested mind.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Warrick got down to business. He turned on his flashlight and kneeled down to inspect the concrete floor of the entryway. Working methodically, side to side, Warrick inched his way along the floor. There was precious little to find.

Warrick stopped when he reached the dried blood on the floor. Sitting back, he looked over at the briefcase, still lying on the floor. When he picked it up a file fell back to the floor, spilling its contents. Warrick picked up several pieces of paper and recognized them as office memorandums. He gathered them all up and started to put them back in the folder when he noticed the subject line of the memo on top. It read: Warrick Brown.

A quick perusal of the memo told him that Eckley was complaining again. Warrick had not gotten his Tahoe in for servicing on time. Going through several more memos he realized that Grissom had gotten complaints about lots of things: Greg's music in the DNA lab, Sara's "abuse" of overtime, sick calls, and general perceived lapses in administrative ability. Warrick guessed that Grissom received mountains of these kind of complaints, almost none of which he brought to the team. Grissom just handled things.

"It's true. The man does have to put up with a lot." Warrick said to himself.

"So do you." His head shot up to see Grissom standing next the bookcase, a lopsided grin on his face.

"What?" Warrick asked, unsure of what to say.

"Put up with a lot," Grissom said.

"Like what?"

Grissom cocked his head to the side. "Like unwarranted doubts."

"Not so unwarranted." Warrick insisted.

Grissom's smile reached his eyes at that. "You've kept your word. I'm proud of you."

"Wait until we find you. Then you can be proud." Warrick said, looking back at the paperwork in his hands. He realized he felt a little awkward.

When he looked up again, Grissom was gone.

Monday Morning 09:06 AM

Jim Brass found Sara and Catherine in the print lab. They were waiting for him.

"You look like hell," Catherine told Jim as he entered the room.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," he replied as he approached the lab counter. He opened the file he had brought with him and dropped it in front of them.

"What have you got?" Sara asked, already craning her neck to look at the information in the file.

Jim took a deep breath before beginning. "Paul Stankowski was convicted in 1979 of second degree murder in Los Angeles County California. He was sentenced to fifteen years under California Penal Code 190. He was released four months ago from Corcoran State Prison."

"Wait a minute," Catherine said, confused. "He was sentenced to fifteen years but did twenty-three. That doesn't add up."

"It does if you're a lowlife who likes to assault correctional officers," Jim said. "Our man, Paul, had another eight years tacked on for giggles and grins."

"I bet he wasn't giggling when they let him out," Sara remarked.

Catherine was still not sure about something. "Okay, he did the time in prison. What has this got to do with Grissom? Gil had to be, what, twenty-four when this guy was sent up?"

Jim nodded. "I was getting to that." He referred to the file he'd brought. "Gil Grissom was the youngest coroner in Los Angeles County history. According to his personnel file, he had started doing crime scene sweeps with the L.A. County Sheriff's Department as a part of a graduate fellowship program out of UCLA. Guess who found the body of the person Pauly was convicted of killing?"

Surprise flooded Sara's face. "You're kidding."