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

Ghost (Part 15/26)

by Cheers

Monday Morning 09:20 AM

As the morning light marched across the sides of his prison, he realized he was beginning to shiver from the cold. Only Gil knew the temperature of the air was rising, not falling. His fever was getting worse. The dehydration was becoming severe. It had progressed to the point that he didn't need to urinate anymore. His legs cramped occasionally and he was mildly nauseous almost continuously. His prison would soon be a coffin. Might as well call a spade a spade, Gil thought.

Okay, not as poetic as it could be, but an appropriate metaphor for Vegas. He would have laughed if he had had the energy.

Gil had been thinking about how he wound up in his current situation. He had been blindsided by events. Arcane circumstances had conspired to bring him to this point. Now, when his contribution seemed the greatest, he faced the real possibility that his last contribution would be the mystery of his death.

Finding the body of Chad Campbell had changed the way he looked at his life. He had always known that he would work with death. It didn't frighten him the way it seemed to frighten everyone else. Even as a boy he had found the process of death interesting. As soon as he was old enough, he had done the logical thing and become a coroner. Gil found out very early on that he could hear clearly what a dead body had to say. His mother called it a gift. She had even called him Sherlock Bones.

An attempt to laugh at the memory brought on a cramp in his side that doubled him over. He had to lie very still for several moments before he could breathe without pain. The nausea was so bad that it made his head pound. It was harder to see. The inside of his mouth was sore. He couldn't swallow, although he desperately wanted to.

What was he thinking about?

Sherlock Bones. That was it. He had been like Sherlock, fascinated by the puzzles that came with dying. Taking the police ride along that day had brought Gil face to face with the wonders of investigating a murder from a whole new perspective. He had found the body, but not only that: Gil had followed the case through to the end. Working with the medical examiner, Gil had collected the insects that had eventually established the timeline of the body's decomposition. This was the case that had birthed a passion for entomology in him.

It was also the first time Gil had testified in court. He could not remember ever feeling so intimidated as the day he initially took the oath and then took the witness stand. He testified as to how he had found the body, the condition the body had been in, the insects he had collected, and to the transfer of the body to the morgue. The Assistant District Attorney told him he was a natural on the stand because his had communicated his thoughts so clearly.

Gil had never considered himself vain, but if he had ever had an "Ah ha!" moment, then this had been it. He had been born to be a criminalist. Not just a criminalist, but a forensic entomologist. He spent the next six years becoming what he believed he was meant to be. He made a conscious effort to learn, expand, and hone his skills. The science was a means to that end. If he were to mourn the loss of anything, it would be the career. In reality, his career had become his life, and there was very little about that that he regretted.

Another cramp forced all thoughts of mourning out of his head.

Monday Morning 09:39 AM

Greg couldn't stand the wait any longer. He had paced around his lab for twenty minutes. There was work enough for him, true, but none of it would help find out where Grissom was. The action on that score was in Trace. He headed out of the DNA lab on a mission.

The comparative microscope captivated Larry's attention. He didn't hear Sanders' arrival. Consequently, he jumped at the sound of the foreign voice in his lab.

"Whatcha got there?" Greg asked, standing inches away from Larry.

"Jesus!" Larry half-shouted, leaping back several feet from the microscope.

Greg seized the moment and leaned in to take a look.

Larry stared at the younger lab tech, stunned by his ballsy nosiness. "Hey! That's my work there, Pancho."

"And fine work it is," Greg told Collins, adjusting the scope to suit his better vision. Larry was a bit near-sighted. What Greg could see were two almost identical pieces of what appeared to be siliceous rock crystals of some kind. "Hmmm," Greg continued, "interesting."

Larry grabbed Sanders' shoulder and pulled him away from the microscope. "What do you think you're doing here?" he said angrily. "Don't you have enough crap in the DNA lab to keep you busy?"

Refusing to be deterred, Greg scanned the counter next to the comparative microscope and found the Trace report for the specimen being examined. He picked it up and backed away from Collins.

"Elemental analysis of the sample found in front floorboard of suspect vehicle," Greg read aloud, "thirty-three point eight percent silica, seven point two percent aluminum …."

Collins yanked the report out of Greg's hands. "Get the hell out of my lab," Larry snarled. "I can handle the analysis myself."

Greg stood his ground. "You've been working on this stuff for two hours now."

Larry seethed. "What the hell difference is that to you?"

Now it was Greg's turn to be hot. "The difference is that Grissom's life is on the line. Did you give this preliminary analysis to Catherine or Warrick?"

Larry clenched his jaw. What the hell right did Grissom's pet have coming in here and telling him how to do his job? Larry had been doing his job in this lab for nearly twice as long as Sanders had been there. Everyone knew that Grissom liked Sanders. The shit this asshole could get away with infuriated Larry. This evidence was going to come from the Trace lab, not DNA. Larry wanted to be sure of his findings before making his report, that was all. This case was too important to him to take the chance of making a mistake.

Greg could see the red rising dangerously in Collins' face. He didn't care. This was too important. If Collins wasn't going to get this analysis done in short order, then Greg would. "I thought so," Greg spat. He turned on his heels and headed out the door. He was still on a mission.

Stocking down the corridor, Greg ran through the procedure in his head. Photograph, lift, document. He wasn't field trained. Not yet. But he had read the textbooks and the procedure manuals. This was something he could do. This was something he HAD to do. Time, she was a wastin'.

He arrived in the garage in short order and found everything he needed already there. Being careful to don gloves, Greg picked up a flashlight and opened the front driver's side door of the Toyota. It didn't take long to locate more of the dark siliceous rock grains he had seen under the comparative microscope. Greg grabbed the camera that was sitting on the workbench and checked to see if it had film. Pleased to find that it did, he focused on the grains of black glasslike material he had found and took a picture. He was about to set the camera down when it occurred to him that he should be safe and take another. That done, he set the exposed polaroids down side by side and labeled them with his name, the time and date, and the case number. He had committed the number to memory by simply typing it into the computer in the DNA lab so often.

All that remained for him to do was to tape-lift the sample. He did this and labeled the white edge of the tape the same way he had labeled the photos. Greg then removed his gloves, dropped them in an evidence bag and labeled it. He gathered up the photos, evidence bag, and sample and headed back to his lab.

The GC Mass Spec should be able to give him a quick rundown of the elemental composition of the sample he had collected. Greg had a hunch about this glass and if he was right, there might be a better way to find the needle in the haystack.