Grissom walked from Trace toward the breakroom. His head was down, eyes
buried in a report.
"Whoa, Gil." Catherine raised her hands to prevent Grissom from walking into her.
"Oh, sorry," Grissom looked up.
"Nick and I wrapped the suicide. How's your double coming?"
"That's what I was reading. Brass interviewed the female vics daughter. The ex-husband drives a 2002 Expedition. It's consistent with tread marks at the scene. And, Grissom flipped a page on his notes, the girl says her dad's got a nasty temper."
"Not an amicable divorce, I take it?"
"Uh, no," Grissom mumbled. "Girl's sixteen and says dad threatened mom and mom got a restraining order."
"Poor kid," Catherine shook her head.
"Poor dead mom and new husband," Grissom added as Brass turned the corner and walked toward them.
"Grissom, I just wrapped up with the daughter."
"Lemme guess, Catherine interrupted Brass, she told you daddy has a gun collection and maybe some anger management issues?"
"You're good, Cath," Brass rolled his eyes. "I've got an APB out on one, Victor Curry. A and D." Brass continued down the hall, throwing a backward glance at Grissom, "And let me know about those tread marks."
"Why didn't I think of that?" Grissom smirked to Catherine.
"Now, Gil, you know the little man always gets testy around evaluation time."
"Funny, Cath. I'm just waiting on the casts and tread photos from Sara.
"Let me know if you need me. I'll be finishing paperwork. Oh joy."
"Thanks, will do." Grissom checked his watch and frowned. Sara should have had those prints to him half an hour ago. He started toward the lab, something still tugging at the back of his brain. It gave him a vague, uneasy feeling. Spotting Warrick at the lab doors, he quickened his pace.
"Warrick, you seen Sara?"
"About to ask you the same, Griss."
"You check with the desk?"
"Yep, she hasn't signed back in and she's also not answering her pager."
"Terrific, " Grissom growled. Headache indeed, he thought, pulling his cell from his pocket and punching two buttons. After six rings he tilted his head at Warrick. "There's no reason for her to not pick-up." The call rolled into voice mail as Grissom frowned.
"Sara, it's Grissom. Call me ASAP," he said in a loud staccato. Replacing his phone he was already down the hall. "Come on Warrick, let's backtrack."
Sara noticed the smell before she even opened her eyes. A vile mix of sweat, garbage and vomit. She knew she was on her side. As her eyes opened she discovered the vomit was hers. Like the rancid coating in her mouth hadn't been a big enough clue she thought. God, what was wrong with her brain? Her head felt fuzzy and it took great effort to lift even an arm. Drugs? Oh yeah, definitely, drugs. Damn, think! What the hell happened? She rolled onto her back and could feel the chemical trying to suck her back to sleep. She fought it. Finally, after more than a few failed attempts, she righted herself into a sitting position. She glanced around the tiny filthy apartment(?). Trash was stacked agaisnt two walls and roaches seemed to roam freely. She shuddered and thought of Grissom.
"Grissom," Sara whispered hoarsely.
She had been working a scene with Grissom and Warrick. Jeez, to just get the cobwebs from her mind.
"They're not to leave until you do."
Grissom standing over her. Sara shook her head with the memory. She slowly searched her body for possible injuries as she let the mental slide show come at will.
"You know, Griss, I'm a big girl now. So go away."
God, Grissom, please don't go away. Please come back. I didn't mean it. Griss, please.
"They're here until you are, Sara. Live with it."
No, Grissom, nobody is fucking here! That's the problem. Sara's hand traced a crimson stain on the upper leg of her jeans. Her thigh was sore and throbbed. He stuck me with something. He. Yes, a he. Someone had grabbed her. She remembered struggling and then a stabbing pain in her leg. Oh yeah, drugs. She had seen the hand drop the used syringe as she fought him. Then nothing. Blackness.
Sara struggled to one knee by grasping the ratty arm of a nearby chair. She was sore and dizzy, but otherwise appeared all right. Her eyes scanned the apartment again, this time fixing on the door. A way out. Wherever the hell she was, here was a way out. Hurry up she admonished herself, willing her rubbery legs to support her frame. Her hand reached for the door just as the knob turned and it opened.
Grissom's left hand gripped the steering wheel as his right hand drummed against his thigh in a fit of nervous energy. Damnit, Sara. Where the hell are you? He was slowly losing his battle to keep the feeling of dread at bay. Glancing down at his right hand, he exhaled and brought it back to the wheel. Nervous was not something he did well. Cool, calm, Grissom. Just concentrate on the road. Don't think about possibilities.
Warrick glanced at his boss. He could almost feel the nervous energy emanating from Grissom's body. It just wasn't normal. Warrick responded with a few deep breaths and struggled to keep his tone light. "Ya know, Griss, she's probably just got a flat and."
"She would have called, Warrick."
Warrick nodded and turned to stare out the window as they neared the turnoff. Grissom had already radioed Brass, who had assured them that Sara left the scene right behind his two officers. Within minutes, Grisson slowed the truck as they pulled into a lot adjacent to the scene. Both men stared at Sara's Tahoe, headlights on, driver's side door wide open, interior lights aglow. Neither man said a word, but both reached for their guns.
They exited quietly, Grissom motioning Warrick to cover the left. As the CSI's neared the Tahoe, they could hear the engine running and faint strains of music coming from the stereo. Trying to preserve possible footprints they left a wide berth around the vehicle, continually sweeping the ground with their flashlights.
"Sara?" Grissom called out in as normal a tone as he could muster. His voice sounded hollow. He glanced questioningly at Warrick. Giving Grissom the briefest of looks, he shook his head, indicating nothing on his side. Slowly, they made their way toward the rear of the truck. The interior lights cast both men in an eerie glow. Reaching the back of the Tahoe, Warrick visually cleared the interior.
"I've got intermingled footprints and brief drag marks here, Warrick." Grissom slept the dirt with the beam of his light. "And." Grissom hesitated in order for his brain to reconcile what his eyes were seeing. "And what, Griss?" Warrick asked, crouching down beside him.
"Uh, it's a used syringe, Grissom said. He wandered why his voice was so steady. Hollow, but steady.
"Blood on the needle. Couple drops on the ground. Looks fairly fresh too," Warrick added as he shined his flashlight alongside Grissom's.
A block of ice slowly melted in Grissom's stomach, chilling him to the very core. Sara. Where are you?
He cleared his throat before leveling a steady gaze at Warrick. "Get Catherine and Nick out here. I'll notify Brass."
"Whoa, Gil." Catherine raised her hands to prevent Grissom from walking into her.
"Oh, sorry," Grissom looked up.
"Nick and I wrapped the suicide. How's your double coming?"
"That's what I was reading. Brass interviewed the female vics daughter. The ex-husband drives a 2002 Expedition. It's consistent with tread marks at the scene. And, Grissom flipped a page on his notes, the girl says her dad's got a nasty temper."
"Not an amicable divorce, I take it?"
"Uh, no," Grissom mumbled. "Girl's sixteen and says dad threatened mom and mom got a restraining order."
"Poor kid," Catherine shook her head.
"Poor dead mom and new husband," Grissom added as Brass turned the corner and walked toward them.
"Grissom, I just wrapped up with the daughter."
"Lemme guess, Catherine interrupted Brass, she told you daddy has a gun collection and maybe some anger management issues?"
"You're good, Cath," Brass rolled his eyes. "I've got an APB out on one, Victor Curry. A and D." Brass continued down the hall, throwing a backward glance at Grissom, "And let me know about those tread marks."
"Why didn't I think of that?" Grissom smirked to Catherine.
"Now, Gil, you know the little man always gets testy around evaluation time."
"Funny, Cath. I'm just waiting on the casts and tread photos from Sara.
"Let me know if you need me. I'll be finishing paperwork. Oh joy."
"Thanks, will do." Grissom checked his watch and frowned. Sara should have had those prints to him half an hour ago. He started toward the lab, something still tugging at the back of his brain. It gave him a vague, uneasy feeling. Spotting Warrick at the lab doors, he quickened his pace.
"Warrick, you seen Sara?"
"About to ask you the same, Griss."
"You check with the desk?"
"Yep, she hasn't signed back in and she's also not answering her pager."
"Terrific, " Grissom growled. Headache indeed, he thought, pulling his cell from his pocket and punching two buttons. After six rings he tilted his head at Warrick. "There's no reason for her to not pick-up." The call rolled into voice mail as Grissom frowned.
"Sara, it's Grissom. Call me ASAP," he said in a loud staccato. Replacing his phone he was already down the hall. "Come on Warrick, let's backtrack."
Sara noticed the smell before she even opened her eyes. A vile mix of sweat, garbage and vomit. She knew she was on her side. As her eyes opened she discovered the vomit was hers. Like the rancid coating in her mouth hadn't been a big enough clue she thought. God, what was wrong with her brain? Her head felt fuzzy and it took great effort to lift even an arm. Drugs? Oh yeah, definitely, drugs. Damn, think! What the hell happened? She rolled onto her back and could feel the chemical trying to suck her back to sleep. She fought it. Finally, after more than a few failed attempts, she righted herself into a sitting position. She glanced around the tiny filthy apartment(?). Trash was stacked agaisnt two walls and roaches seemed to roam freely. She shuddered and thought of Grissom.
"Grissom," Sara whispered hoarsely.
She had been working a scene with Grissom and Warrick. Jeez, to just get the cobwebs from her mind.
"They're not to leave until you do."
Grissom standing over her. Sara shook her head with the memory. She slowly searched her body for possible injuries as she let the mental slide show come at will.
"You know, Griss, I'm a big girl now. So go away."
God, Grissom, please don't go away. Please come back. I didn't mean it. Griss, please.
"They're here until you are, Sara. Live with it."
No, Grissom, nobody is fucking here! That's the problem. Sara's hand traced a crimson stain on the upper leg of her jeans. Her thigh was sore and throbbed. He stuck me with something. He. Yes, a he. Someone had grabbed her. She remembered struggling and then a stabbing pain in her leg. Oh yeah, drugs. She had seen the hand drop the used syringe as she fought him. Then nothing. Blackness.
Sara struggled to one knee by grasping the ratty arm of a nearby chair. She was sore and dizzy, but otherwise appeared all right. Her eyes scanned the apartment again, this time fixing on the door. A way out. Wherever the hell she was, here was a way out. Hurry up she admonished herself, willing her rubbery legs to support her frame. Her hand reached for the door just as the knob turned and it opened.
Grissom's left hand gripped the steering wheel as his right hand drummed against his thigh in a fit of nervous energy. Damnit, Sara. Where the hell are you? He was slowly losing his battle to keep the feeling of dread at bay. Glancing down at his right hand, he exhaled and brought it back to the wheel. Nervous was not something he did well. Cool, calm, Grissom. Just concentrate on the road. Don't think about possibilities.
Warrick glanced at his boss. He could almost feel the nervous energy emanating from Grissom's body. It just wasn't normal. Warrick responded with a few deep breaths and struggled to keep his tone light. "Ya know, Griss, she's probably just got a flat and."
"She would have called, Warrick."
Warrick nodded and turned to stare out the window as they neared the turnoff. Grissom had already radioed Brass, who had assured them that Sara left the scene right behind his two officers. Within minutes, Grisson slowed the truck as they pulled into a lot adjacent to the scene. Both men stared at Sara's Tahoe, headlights on, driver's side door wide open, interior lights aglow. Neither man said a word, but both reached for their guns.
They exited quietly, Grissom motioning Warrick to cover the left. As the CSI's neared the Tahoe, they could hear the engine running and faint strains of music coming from the stereo. Trying to preserve possible footprints they left a wide berth around the vehicle, continually sweeping the ground with their flashlights.
"Sara?" Grissom called out in as normal a tone as he could muster. His voice sounded hollow. He glanced questioningly at Warrick. Giving Grissom the briefest of looks, he shook his head, indicating nothing on his side. Slowly, they made their way toward the rear of the truck. The interior lights cast both men in an eerie glow. Reaching the back of the Tahoe, Warrick visually cleared the interior.
"I've got intermingled footprints and brief drag marks here, Warrick." Grissom slept the dirt with the beam of his light. "And." Grissom hesitated in order for his brain to reconcile what his eyes were seeing. "And what, Griss?" Warrick asked, crouching down beside him.
"Uh, it's a used syringe, Grissom said. He wandered why his voice was so steady. Hollow, but steady.
"Blood on the needle. Couple drops on the ground. Looks fairly fresh too," Warrick added as he shined his flashlight alongside Grissom's.
A block of ice slowly melted in Grissom's stomach, chilling him to the very core. Sara. Where are you?
He cleared his throat before leveling a steady gaze at Warrick. "Get Catherine and Nick out here. I'll notify Brass."