This story is based on characters created by Anthony E. Zuiker for the television series CSI: Crime Scene Investigation.
Ghost (Part 18/26)
by Cheers
Monday Afternoon 12:57 PM
It was obvious from the neglected state of the building that this ore processing plant had not been in use for quite some time. The windows were dusted over from countless wind storms, common in the high desert. One of every four or five windows was cracked or broken. The sliding metal entry door was rusted open, and the concrete bricks from which the building had been constructed had long ago lost any paint they sported to the blowing sands of Southern Nevada.
A black Tahoe, a State Police cruiser, and an unmarked LVMPD Ford Taurus pulled up outside the sagging chain link fence that surrounded an ancient paved parking lot. Most of the area had degraded to dust, and the parking lot outside the building complex seemed more sand and scrub brush than asphalt.
There was very little life in Goodsprings, Nevada. The town had sprung up in the middle of the desert to serve the mining industry that had once flourished here.
There had been a railroad spur built to service the local mine rail traffic. When the mines closed, the service spur had gone quiet and weeds had grown over the tracks. The town itself had dried up under the hot Nevada sun. Today, only a handful of diehard residents remained to hold off extinction.
The processing plant lay three miles outside of Goodsprings, just east of the abandoned railroad spur. According to the information Nick had obtained from the State Mining Commission, this plant was still the property of the Crystal Gorge Mine Company. The owners of the company had readily given permission to search the property. Cooperation with local authorities went a long way in preventing unnecessary reclamation ordinance hassles.
Four criminalists from Las Vegas exited the vehicles, accompanied by Sergeant O'Riley and Trooper Blair. Everyone wore sunglasses – combat gear to ward off the brightness of the relentless midday high desert sun. There was no sign of life about either the building complex or the surrounding property except for the call of a faraway crow.
"How do you want to play it?" Warrick asked Catherine.
She looked around and made some quick decisions. "Divide and conquer," she told the team. "Nick and I will take the main entrance. Sara, see if there's anything around back. There must be another way into the building complex."
Sara nodded. "You got it."
"Warrick," Catherine continued, "find out if there are any signs our Toyota or some other vehicle was in this parking lot recently."
Warrick looked over his shoulder. "Roger that."
Turning to the two police officers present, Catherine asked rather than instructed. "Would you fellows mind helping with a search of the grounds?"
"My pleasure," Trooper Blair responded. It wasn't more than eighty-five degrees out – a balmy fall day for this area of Nevada. Besides, when a member of law enforcement was in trouble, there should be no need for asking. Help was given whenever and wherever it could do some good, no questions asked.
"No problem," O'Riley said, grateful for something, anything, to do that might lead to Grissom.
Catherine briefly touched O'Riley's arm. "Thanks." She looked at the rest of the team and nodded toward the processing plant. "Let's get to it."
With field kits or flashlights, they all fanned out to begin searching for Gil Grissom outside the ghost town of Goodsprings, Nevada.
Monday Afternoon 01:11 PM
His shift had long since ended. He should have gone home and gone to bed. He should have, but that wasn't where he was. Instead, Greg found himself watching Grissom's tarantula slowly make its way across the bottom of its glass home.
Larry had gone home and Denise was now working in Trace. That meant that Greg didn't have to tiptoe around the lab in an attempt to stay out of Larry's crosshairs. The rest of the night shift team was either out in the field or had gone home. Greg figured that if he hung around the lab he'd be likely to find out information faster.
The rumor mill in the lab was faster than any official channel known to man. Information could be transferred so quickly in the lab that it seemed to travel faster than the speed of light. That's how it had been when Holly Gribbs was shot and Brass was removed as head of the lab. Just about everyone in the lab knew that Grissom was going to be the new boss before Grissom knew it.
Now the rumor mill had very little to speculate about. Grissom would be found either dead or alive. Or he might not be found at all. And, in true Vegas style, odds makers were taking bets. That thought made Greg's stomach turn. Greg loved all things fun and light-hearted, but making book on the outcome of this situation seemed cruel. The boss had to have family somewhere. Greg had heard that Catherine was calling Grissom's mother to give her updates. What would Grissom's mom think if she knew people were wagering on the case's outcome? God, that was sick.
The tarantula had settled at the far end of the terrarium. He was full from a day of eating and oblivious to the circumstances of his owner.
"Probably just as well," Greg said to the spider.
"He thanks you."
Greg whirled around to find Grissom standing in the doorway to his office.
"I was just making sure he was okay," Greg explained.
"And he thanks you for it," Grissom said. "So do I."
Greg thrust his hands into his pockets. "I just figured someone had to until … you know."
"Yeah," Grissom said gently, "I know."
"I won't let anything happen to him," Greg continued nervously. "He'll be safe and sound when you get back."
Grissom smiled warmly at the lab tech. "I appreciate that, Greg. You have a good heart. It's what will make you a good criminalist someday."
"Really?" Greg asked, surprised. He looked back at the tarantula, too embarrassed to meet Grissom's eyes. Turning back, he found that the doorway was empty. The boss was gone.
Monday Afternoon 01:25 PM
Jim Brass met Patrolman Wyatt in front of the reception desk at Arizona Charlie's. The off-strip hotel and casino was a favorite for locals needing a getaway. Located on Decatur Boulevard west of the strip, Arizona Charlie's boasted a large full featured casino, cheap rooms, and abundant inexpensive food options. It also had the advantage of being slightly out of the way while being on a major bus route. The casino was exactly thirty-five cents from the center of all the action.
"What have we got?" Jim asked Wyatt.
Officer Wyatt handed Jim a copy of a registration form. "Hotel security gave me this. A Paul Stankowski registered here three days ago, room 471. He prepaid for his room in cash."
"How many days?" Brass inquired.
"Five," Wyatt answered.
"Did you check the room yet?"
Wyatt shook his head. "I was told to wait for you, Captain."
Brass looked up from the registration form. "Okay. Let's see if Mr. Stankowski is in."