1 Chapter Two: The Eyes
"Tell me you didn't just say it gets worse."
"I did," Brass replied reluctantly. The group sighed, almost in unison.
Grissom took a deep breath. "How does it get worse?"
Grissom and Catherine were at the crime scene. The small apartment looked very different from the expensive hotel room. But the crime scene was the same: clean, neat, not a trace of struggle, and a young blonde woman sitting motionless on the couch, her face away from the door. Catherine and Grissom braced themselves as they rounded the couch. As Brass said, the crime scene was the same. It was probably the same killer. But the murders were only an hour apart.
They rounded the couch. The woman's face was torn and bloody, just as the first victim's had been. But there was one thing different. The eyes.
Tamara Richard's eyes had been completely removed from her skull, and no trace of them had been left. But this victim's eyes remained. Her eyeballs had hole in them, but they remained in her skull. The pure blue of the eyes was vivid against the dark red blood of the rest of her face.
"The victim's name is Elizabeth Martin," Brass announced, coming up behind the two CSIs. He held up her driver's license. "Three things of interest on here: her name, her birthday, and the color of her eyes."
"Her eyes?"
"Yes. Her eyes are listed as green," Brass explained, handing Grissom the Nevada license. "Her birthday is March 26, 1976. Not the same year as Ms. Richard's, but the same day."
Catherine was examining Elizabeth Martin's eyes. "Do we have a murder weapon?"
"No, not specifically. Probably just a knife."
"It can't be a knife," Catherine protested. "Look at this, Gil." She pointed to the small, round holes puncturing the eyes and face. "Knife blades aren't round."
"The handprints were there again, too. Same pattern, same size. Same everything," Catherine finished with frustration.
"Nothing came up to connect Tamara Richards and Elizabeth Martin. The only thing they have in common seems to be their birthday and their hair color," Sara reported when Catherine and Grissom had arrived back at CSI. "Except –"
"What do you think he used as a murder weapon?" Catherine interrupted.
"Well," Nick spoke up, "he didn't use a gun or a knife."
"Oh, now that's a help," Sara mocked.
Grissom ignored them. "What's round and sharp and would make a good murder weapon?"
"Is this the kind of thing you think about on your days off?" Warrick joked.
"Hey guys," Greg popped his head in the room. "Any leads on the case or do you all need alcohol?" Everyone laughed except Grissom – he was deep in thought
"That's it," Grissom said suddenly. "A corkscrew."
"What are you talking about, Gris?" Sara asked, genuinely confused.
"The murder weapon. It's a corkscrew."
"A corkscrew? A killer who walks on his hands? I don't know about this, guys. We're stretching it, here," Nick pointed out.
"He has to get their eyes out somehow," Catherine said.
"Ugh." Sara shuddered and rubbed her eyes. "That is the sickest thing." She shuddered again.
"Sara," Grissom said, coming out of deep thought. "What color were Tamara Richard's eyes?"
"Grissom," Brass' voice crackled over the cell phone. "You're not going to like this."
"What?"
"It's another one."
The crime scene was the same again.
"Her name's Antoinette McPherson, better know as Nettie. She fits the profile – blond, birthday March 26, same murder."
"What color are her eyes?" Grissom asked immediately.
"The ones in her skull or the ones she had when she got her license?" Brass replied, without missing a beat.
"Both."
"I don't know about the ones in her skull – that's your job – the ones listed on her license, though, are brown."
"These are green," Catherine called to the men from where she was examining the corpse. "This is unbelievable," she murmured to herself.
"Tell me you didn't just say it gets worse."
"I did," Brass replied reluctantly. The group sighed, almost in unison.
Grissom took a deep breath. "How does it get worse?"
Grissom and Catherine were at the crime scene. The small apartment looked very different from the expensive hotel room. But the crime scene was the same: clean, neat, not a trace of struggle, and a young blonde woman sitting motionless on the couch, her face away from the door. Catherine and Grissom braced themselves as they rounded the couch. As Brass said, the crime scene was the same. It was probably the same killer. But the murders were only an hour apart.
They rounded the couch. The woman's face was torn and bloody, just as the first victim's had been. But there was one thing different. The eyes.
Tamara Richard's eyes had been completely removed from her skull, and no trace of them had been left. But this victim's eyes remained. Her eyeballs had hole in them, but they remained in her skull. The pure blue of the eyes was vivid against the dark red blood of the rest of her face.
"The victim's name is Elizabeth Martin," Brass announced, coming up behind the two CSIs. He held up her driver's license. "Three things of interest on here: her name, her birthday, and the color of her eyes."
"Her eyes?"
"Yes. Her eyes are listed as green," Brass explained, handing Grissom the Nevada license. "Her birthday is March 26, 1976. Not the same year as Ms. Richard's, but the same day."
Catherine was examining Elizabeth Martin's eyes. "Do we have a murder weapon?"
"No, not specifically. Probably just a knife."
"It can't be a knife," Catherine protested. "Look at this, Gil." She pointed to the small, round holes puncturing the eyes and face. "Knife blades aren't round."
"The handprints were there again, too. Same pattern, same size. Same everything," Catherine finished with frustration.
"Nothing came up to connect Tamara Richards and Elizabeth Martin. The only thing they have in common seems to be their birthday and their hair color," Sara reported when Catherine and Grissom had arrived back at CSI. "Except –"
"What do you think he used as a murder weapon?" Catherine interrupted.
"Well," Nick spoke up, "he didn't use a gun or a knife."
"Oh, now that's a help," Sara mocked.
Grissom ignored them. "What's round and sharp and would make a good murder weapon?"
"Is this the kind of thing you think about on your days off?" Warrick joked.
"Hey guys," Greg popped his head in the room. "Any leads on the case or do you all need alcohol?" Everyone laughed except Grissom – he was deep in thought
"That's it," Grissom said suddenly. "A corkscrew."
"What are you talking about, Gris?" Sara asked, genuinely confused.
"The murder weapon. It's a corkscrew."
"A corkscrew? A killer who walks on his hands? I don't know about this, guys. We're stretching it, here," Nick pointed out.
"He has to get their eyes out somehow," Catherine said.
"Ugh." Sara shuddered and rubbed her eyes. "That is the sickest thing." She shuddered again.
"Sara," Grissom said, coming out of deep thought. "What color were Tamara Richard's eyes?"
"Grissom," Brass' voice crackled over the cell phone. "You're not going to like this."
"What?"
"It's another one."
The crime scene was the same again.
"Her name's Antoinette McPherson, better know as Nettie. She fits the profile – blond, birthday March 26, same murder."
"What color are her eyes?" Grissom asked immediately.
"The ones in her skull or the ones she had when she got her license?" Brass replied, without missing a beat.
"Both."
"I don't know about the ones in her skull – that's your job – the ones listed on her license, though, are brown."
"These are green," Catherine called to the men from where she was examining the corpse. "This is unbelievable," she murmured to herself.