1 Chapter Ten: Isabelle?
"Someone set your bed on fire?"
"Yes, Nick," Catherine said slowly, trying to make him understand. "Someone came into my house and set fire to my photo album which was on my bed. And so my bed is destroyed. Got it?"
"Wow."
"Do you think it was the serial killer?" Sara asked.
"I don't know. Maybe. I think they wanted to destroy this old photograph of my neighborhood, but I had it in my pocket." Catherine slid the picture onto the table so her colleagues could take a look.
"What are we going to do?" Warrick began, puzzled. "We don't have a suspect or evidence."
"Then we need to get one or both," Grissom said firmly. "We're going back to all the crime scenes, including Catherine's house. We might have missed some evidence. Sara you cover the first crime scene, Nick the second, Warrick the third, and I've got the fourth. Catherine, you've got your house. You know it better than anyone." Grissom paused and looked around the table. "We need evidence and we need it now."
Catherine gathered up her evidence kit and went back home. Luckily, Lindsay's friend had agreed that home was no place for Lindsay right now, and Lindsay was going to stay over there until this whole thing blew over. For Lindsay and her friend, it was an extended slumber party. For Catherine, it was a nightmare. She dusted for prints. Every door and every window and what seemed like her entire room. All of it was dusted for prints. There was nothing.
"Stupid plastic gloves," Catherine murmured. Then something clicked, and she went into the kitchen and looked through the garbage.
A smile crept across her face as Catherine had found what she was looking for. A discarded pair of plastic gloves that seemed identical to the ones she had on herself. Catherine sealed the gloves away safely as evidence. There had to be prints inside. Since she found no more evidence, she went back to the lab to process the gloves.
Sara examined every square inch of the hotel room where the first murder had taken place. There was nothing there. No prints, no clues, nothing. She took out the pictures of the blood patterns. Sara was getting frustrated. She didn't have anything new. There was nothing here. She looked at the pictures again. Wait, she thought, is that a -?
Nick stepped into the apartment. The air was stale. He looked around for evidence. He dusted for prints again, but none showed up that hadn't already been found and identified as the owner's. Running his hands through his hair, he crouched down to pick up his kit and get out of there, but something caught his eye. Stuck on one of the upholstery tacks was a small piece of fabric. It was plaid and it looked like it had been caught on the tack and then ripped off. Nick sealed it away in an evidence bag and smiled to himself. They were going to crack this case after all.
Warrick slowly opened the door. The crime scene looked the same as it had before, minus the body of course. Warrick was determined to find some new evidence. They needed to crack this case. They couldn't let this killer win. Come to think of it, they had a terrible time when any killer won. Everyone was in a bad mood for days. But with this case, Catherine was already beginning to be affected. If she blew up when she couldn't find her keys last night, what if we can't find the killer? Warrick reasoned. CSI might never be the same again. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and got back to looking for evidence. Any evidence.
Grissom wanted this case over. It was driving them all up a wall. And Catherine couldn't even look at corkscrews anymore. They gave them all chills, come to think of it. The corkscrew that once resided in the break room now had a new home in the dump, and they were all glad. Grissom went right over to the bonsai tree. The corkscrew had been taken to the lab, where it was proven that it wasn't the actual murder weapon. The apple had gone with it, but it had been throw away long ago. The bonsai tree looked just like a normal bonsai tree as Grissom poked around in its branches. Nothing there. He scoured the couch next. Nothing there, either. Grissom got down on his hands and knees and examined the carpet where the bloody handprints were. Nothing there. He proceeded down the staircase, following the killer's path. At the platform between the second floor and the third floor, Grissom felt something tickle his face. He brushed it away, but it came back. When he saw what it was, he smiled. A long blonde hair stuck in the railing. It could've been anyone's hair, but it was caught only about an inch from the platform. Not too many people walk on their hands, right?
"Did you find anything yet, Greg?"
"The DNA test on the hair you found should be done in about ten minutes, Grissom. I'll call you."
"Right," Grissom answered, stepping back into the hall to see if Catherine had lifted prints off the gloves she had found. "Catherine!" he called, seeing her down the hall.
"Yeah, Gil?" Catherine didn't look up from the papers she was reading.
"What do you have there?"
"Corkscrew manufacturers…it's hopeless," she said. She had tried tracking the corkscrew they had found at the crime scene through the list, but it was a very popular type, apparently.
"Prints?" Grissom asked.
"What? Oh – I found some, but we haven't finished searching the database." She pointed to the open door she had come out of moments ago and before she could say anything, Grissom disappeared into the room. Catherine shook her head. It was getting personal, and that was never good.
"Match. Grissom, I've got a match."
"You matched the prints from the glove?"
"Yep."
"Let me see."
"Grissom, I should warn you –" Grissom snatched the paper out of Sara's hands.
"Greg?!"
"I was going to warn you…" Sara trailed off.
"Greg couldn't do this," Grissom mused, leaving the room. Sara opened her mouth to call after him, but closed it. Grissom wouldn't come back until he talked to Greg.
"Greg –"
"Look, Grissom, it's only been two minutes! I told you ten. I said I'd call – "
"Greg."
"What?" Greg looked up, sensing something in his supervisor's voice.
"Greg, we got a match on the prints."
"That's good…isn't it?" Grissom's face told Greg it wasn't.
"Greg, they're yours."
"My prints?!?"
"Yes, Greg."
"But how can that be? You don't think I'm the killer do you? I'm not! I just –"
"Greg, have you worn plastic gloves recently?"
Greg frowned, trying to remember. "I was wearing some for a test the other day. I threw them away."
"I'm waiting for that DNA test," Grissom said and left the room, leaving Greg staring after him.
"Kyle," Catherine began.
"Yes, Catherine?"
"Kyle, we would like a sample of your DNA for comparison."
"Comparison to what, exactly?"
"A hair found at the crime scene." Catherine conveniently left out the fact that the hair was long and blond while Kyle's was short and brown.
"Sure," Kyle agreed.
Grissom's cell phone rang.
"Greg?" he asked.
"Um, Grissom? This is Nick."
"Sorry."
"Well, I found a piece of fabric at the crime scene. It's black, green, red, and white plaid. It shouldn't be hard to match with whatever it's from. I'm running tests now."
"Good. Call me if you get anything."
"Bye, Grissom. And be nice to Greg."
"I'm always – oh, all right." Grissom hung up.
"Greg?"
"It's still not done!!!" Greg turned around. "Oh, sorry, Catherine. I thought –"
"You thought it was Grissom? He's just eager to solve this and get the killer behind bars."
"So am I, but…" Greg gestured to the lab equipment.
"I know, but Greg –"
"You have something for me don't you?"
"Kyle's DNA to test against the hair Grissom found."
"But the hair was long and blonde!"
"If it was his sister…"
"Right." Greg smiled. "I got it. Thanks Catherine. Just don't expect it to be done any time soon."
"It's been a long day," Warrick moaned.
"No kidding," Sara agreed.
"This is what we have," Grissom said, getting right down to business, "phony prints, probably planted to confuse us."
"Phony? They're Greg's!"
"Greg isn't the murderer, guys."
"Someone just took his discarded gloves and planted them at Catherine's house," Grissom explained.
"What if it is Greg?"
"Catherine! You don't believe that do you?"
"No, I'm just trying not to jump," Catherine told them.
"You're what?"
"Trying not to jump to conclusions."
"Okay…"
Grissom cleared his throat. "We have a piece of fabric that isn't any good without the article of clothing it came from, most likely a shirt since the killer walked on his or her hands –"
"– and there are very few people willing to wear that color plaid pants, even if they are mentally disturbed."
Grissom's glare silenced further comments.
"What about the DNA?"
Grissom frowned. "Greg's not done with it yet."
Grissom's cell phone rang.
Warrick smiled. "Speak of the devil," he quipped.
"Grissom. … Thanks, Greg. I'll be right there." He flipped his phone closed.
"Don't you mean 'we'll be right there'?" Sara raised an eyebrow.
Grissom sighed. "Come on."
"I wasn't expecting a party," Greg said as all five of them walked into the lab.
"What are the results, Greg?"
Greg handed Grissom the results and said, "You were right Catherine, they're relatives. But it isn't Kyle's hair."
"Really?" Sara asked. "No kidding?"
Greg smiled. "No kidding."
Grissom was studying the results. "We have the evidence without the suspect," he said.
"That is a little backward."
"Now all we need to do is find Isabelle –"
"Who doesn't legally exist."
" – But first," Grissom continued, ignoring the interruption, "go home and sleep."
This little announcement was met by cheers.
"Thanks, Gris!"
"See you all tomorrow!"
"Bye!"
The CSIs all went their separate ways, grateful for the chance to rest after their long day. As Catherine passed the front desk, she smiled at Elisabeth and held up her keys.
"Sorry about that Catherine," Elisabeth said.
"It's no big deal," Catherine said and went out to her car.
"Hi, Lindsay. How are you? … Good, I'm glad … Really? That's great! … See you soon, sweetheart. … Bye." Catherine hung up the phone and sank back on the couch. At least Lindsay had a good day. Even though it wasn't very late, Catherine decided to go to bed. Out of habit, she walked into her room and turned on the light. The smoke from the previous night's fire had blackened her room and the bed she had planned to sleep on was no longer available. Coughing, she backed out of the room. Catherine decided she would sleep in the guestroom. Recalling the intruder from the night before, she decided to check the house. First, she checked all the doors: locked. The windows were also all locked. Reassured, she extinguished all the lights and went to bed, falling to sleep immediately.
Click. Catherine sat up in bed. Her front door had just been unlocked. The door squeaked open and Catherine heard footsteps. Catherine pinched herself on the arm. It's a dream, it's only a dream, she thought fiercely, trying desperately to make the intruder disappear, but she knew she was awake. This wasn't a dream. Slowly, Catherine got out of bed. She was surprised to find she had never changed out of her work clothes. I guess I was more tired than I thought. The creak of floorboards brought her quickly back and she found herself suddenly wide-awake. She grabbed the gun from the small of her back and crept towards the door. She opened it slowly, but it only revealed darkness. Whoever was in her house had excellent night vision. Luckily, Catherine's eyes had already adjusted to the dark by this time and she had the advantage of knowing where all the furniture was. Creeping along the wall towards the kitchen where the floorboards had creaked, Catherine held her breath. She found the light switch that would illuminate the kitchen and the living room and took a deep breath. Just as she flicked the switch, the front door slammed. Not again! Catherine's mind screamed. She raced to the front door. The knob was locked, but the bolt wasn't. Catherine knew she had locked both of them before going to bed. Turning on the outdoor lights, Catherine looked out the window and slid the bolt back into place. Outside, all was still. Still watching her front yard, Catherine picked up her cell phone and dialed Grissom.
"Hello?"
"Grissom?" He actually sounded tired.
"Catherine? It's the middle of the night!"
"You call me in the middle of the night all the time!" Catherine protested.
"I know, but I'm your supervisor –"
"Someone was in my house."
"When?" He was awake now.
"Just now. Whoever it is has a key, Grissom. They have to have a key. They couldn't get in otherwise. I checked all my locks before I went to bed and I heard them unlock the door!"
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Catherine said, suddenly taking in her breath. Whoever it was had come for a reason. What did they want this time? "Grissom, they didn't do anything. They didn't know I was awake. Why did they leave?"
"I don't know Catherine. Are you sure everything's okay?"
"No, I'm not sure of anything."
"Do you want the police over there?"
"No."
"Do you need anything?"
"Just stay on the line, Gil. I'm going to check the house. If something happens…" Catherine trailed off.
"Are you sure you don't want someone over there?"
"I'm fine. Okay, I'm turning on all the lights. I'm checking the kitchen where I heard floorboards creak. There's nothing here – oh my gosh."
"What is it Catherine?"
"A note." Catherine whispered.
"Catherine? Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Grissom, it says…it says…"
"Someone set your bed on fire?"
"Yes, Nick," Catherine said slowly, trying to make him understand. "Someone came into my house and set fire to my photo album which was on my bed. And so my bed is destroyed. Got it?"
"Wow."
"Do you think it was the serial killer?" Sara asked.
"I don't know. Maybe. I think they wanted to destroy this old photograph of my neighborhood, but I had it in my pocket." Catherine slid the picture onto the table so her colleagues could take a look.
"What are we going to do?" Warrick began, puzzled. "We don't have a suspect or evidence."
"Then we need to get one or both," Grissom said firmly. "We're going back to all the crime scenes, including Catherine's house. We might have missed some evidence. Sara you cover the first crime scene, Nick the second, Warrick the third, and I've got the fourth. Catherine, you've got your house. You know it better than anyone." Grissom paused and looked around the table. "We need evidence and we need it now."
Catherine gathered up her evidence kit and went back home. Luckily, Lindsay's friend had agreed that home was no place for Lindsay right now, and Lindsay was going to stay over there until this whole thing blew over. For Lindsay and her friend, it was an extended slumber party. For Catherine, it was a nightmare. She dusted for prints. Every door and every window and what seemed like her entire room. All of it was dusted for prints. There was nothing.
"Stupid plastic gloves," Catherine murmured. Then something clicked, and she went into the kitchen and looked through the garbage.
A smile crept across her face as Catherine had found what she was looking for. A discarded pair of plastic gloves that seemed identical to the ones she had on herself. Catherine sealed the gloves away safely as evidence. There had to be prints inside. Since she found no more evidence, she went back to the lab to process the gloves.
Sara examined every square inch of the hotel room where the first murder had taken place. There was nothing there. No prints, no clues, nothing. She took out the pictures of the blood patterns. Sara was getting frustrated. She didn't have anything new. There was nothing here. She looked at the pictures again. Wait, she thought, is that a -?
Nick stepped into the apartment. The air was stale. He looked around for evidence. He dusted for prints again, but none showed up that hadn't already been found and identified as the owner's. Running his hands through his hair, he crouched down to pick up his kit and get out of there, but something caught his eye. Stuck on one of the upholstery tacks was a small piece of fabric. It was plaid and it looked like it had been caught on the tack and then ripped off. Nick sealed it away in an evidence bag and smiled to himself. They were going to crack this case after all.
Warrick slowly opened the door. The crime scene looked the same as it had before, minus the body of course. Warrick was determined to find some new evidence. They needed to crack this case. They couldn't let this killer win. Come to think of it, they had a terrible time when any killer won. Everyone was in a bad mood for days. But with this case, Catherine was already beginning to be affected. If she blew up when she couldn't find her keys last night, what if we can't find the killer? Warrick reasoned. CSI might never be the same again. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and got back to looking for evidence. Any evidence.
Grissom wanted this case over. It was driving them all up a wall. And Catherine couldn't even look at corkscrews anymore. They gave them all chills, come to think of it. The corkscrew that once resided in the break room now had a new home in the dump, and they were all glad. Grissom went right over to the bonsai tree. The corkscrew had been taken to the lab, where it was proven that it wasn't the actual murder weapon. The apple had gone with it, but it had been throw away long ago. The bonsai tree looked just like a normal bonsai tree as Grissom poked around in its branches. Nothing there. He scoured the couch next. Nothing there, either. Grissom got down on his hands and knees and examined the carpet where the bloody handprints were. Nothing there. He proceeded down the staircase, following the killer's path. At the platform between the second floor and the third floor, Grissom felt something tickle his face. He brushed it away, but it came back. When he saw what it was, he smiled. A long blonde hair stuck in the railing. It could've been anyone's hair, but it was caught only about an inch from the platform. Not too many people walk on their hands, right?
"Did you find anything yet, Greg?"
"The DNA test on the hair you found should be done in about ten minutes, Grissom. I'll call you."
"Right," Grissom answered, stepping back into the hall to see if Catherine had lifted prints off the gloves she had found. "Catherine!" he called, seeing her down the hall.
"Yeah, Gil?" Catherine didn't look up from the papers she was reading.
"What do you have there?"
"Corkscrew manufacturers…it's hopeless," she said. She had tried tracking the corkscrew they had found at the crime scene through the list, but it was a very popular type, apparently.
"Prints?" Grissom asked.
"What? Oh – I found some, but we haven't finished searching the database." She pointed to the open door she had come out of moments ago and before she could say anything, Grissom disappeared into the room. Catherine shook her head. It was getting personal, and that was never good.
"Match. Grissom, I've got a match."
"You matched the prints from the glove?"
"Yep."
"Let me see."
"Grissom, I should warn you –" Grissom snatched the paper out of Sara's hands.
"Greg?!"
"I was going to warn you…" Sara trailed off.
"Greg couldn't do this," Grissom mused, leaving the room. Sara opened her mouth to call after him, but closed it. Grissom wouldn't come back until he talked to Greg.
"Greg –"
"Look, Grissom, it's only been two minutes! I told you ten. I said I'd call – "
"Greg."
"What?" Greg looked up, sensing something in his supervisor's voice.
"Greg, we got a match on the prints."
"That's good…isn't it?" Grissom's face told Greg it wasn't.
"Greg, they're yours."
"My prints?!?"
"Yes, Greg."
"But how can that be? You don't think I'm the killer do you? I'm not! I just –"
"Greg, have you worn plastic gloves recently?"
Greg frowned, trying to remember. "I was wearing some for a test the other day. I threw them away."
"I'm waiting for that DNA test," Grissom said and left the room, leaving Greg staring after him.
"Kyle," Catherine began.
"Yes, Catherine?"
"Kyle, we would like a sample of your DNA for comparison."
"Comparison to what, exactly?"
"A hair found at the crime scene." Catherine conveniently left out the fact that the hair was long and blond while Kyle's was short and brown.
"Sure," Kyle agreed.
Grissom's cell phone rang.
"Greg?" he asked.
"Um, Grissom? This is Nick."
"Sorry."
"Well, I found a piece of fabric at the crime scene. It's black, green, red, and white plaid. It shouldn't be hard to match with whatever it's from. I'm running tests now."
"Good. Call me if you get anything."
"Bye, Grissom. And be nice to Greg."
"I'm always – oh, all right." Grissom hung up.
"Greg?"
"It's still not done!!!" Greg turned around. "Oh, sorry, Catherine. I thought –"
"You thought it was Grissom? He's just eager to solve this and get the killer behind bars."
"So am I, but…" Greg gestured to the lab equipment.
"I know, but Greg –"
"You have something for me don't you?"
"Kyle's DNA to test against the hair Grissom found."
"But the hair was long and blonde!"
"If it was his sister…"
"Right." Greg smiled. "I got it. Thanks Catherine. Just don't expect it to be done any time soon."
"It's been a long day," Warrick moaned.
"No kidding," Sara agreed.
"This is what we have," Grissom said, getting right down to business, "phony prints, probably planted to confuse us."
"Phony? They're Greg's!"
"Greg isn't the murderer, guys."
"Someone just took his discarded gloves and planted them at Catherine's house," Grissom explained.
"What if it is Greg?"
"Catherine! You don't believe that do you?"
"No, I'm just trying not to jump," Catherine told them.
"You're what?"
"Trying not to jump to conclusions."
"Okay…"
Grissom cleared his throat. "We have a piece of fabric that isn't any good without the article of clothing it came from, most likely a shirt since the killer walked on his or her hands –"
"– and there are very few people willing to wear that color plaid pants, even if they are mentally disturbed."
Grissom's glare silenced further comments.
"What about the DNA?"
Grissom frowned. "Greg's not done with it yet."
Grissom's cell phone rang.
Warrick smiled. "Speak of the devil," he quipped.
"Grissom. … Thanks, Greg. I'll be right there." He flipped his phone closed.
"Don't you mean 'we'll be right there'?" Sara raised an eyebrow.
Grissom sighed. "Come on."
"I wasn't expecting a party," Greg said as all five of them walked into the lab.
"What are the results, Greg?"
Greg handed Grissom the results and said, "You were right Catherine, they're relatives. But it isn't Kyle's hair."
"Really?" Sara asked. "No kidding?"
Greg smiled. "No kidding."
Grissom was studying the results. "We have the evidence without the suspect," he said.
"That is a little backward."
"Now all we need to do is find Isabelle –"
"Who doesn't legally exist."
" – But first," Grissom continued, ignoring the interruption, "go home and sleep."
This little announcement was met by cheers.
"Thanks, Gris!"
"See you all tomorrow!"
"Bye!"
The CSIs all went their separate ways, grateful for the chance to rest after their long day. As Catherine passed the front desk, she smiled at Elisabeth and held up her keys.
"Sorry about that Catherine," Elisabeth said.
"It's no big deal," Catherine said and went out to her car.
"Hi, Lindsay. How are you? … Good, I'm glad … Really? That's great! … See you soon, sweetheart. … Bye." Catherine hung up the phone and sank back on the couch. At least Lindsay had a good day. Even though it wasn't very late, Catherine decided to go to bed. Out of habit, she walked into her room and turned on the light. The smoke from the previous night's fire had blackened her room and the bed she had planned to sleep on was no longer available. Coughing, she backed out of the room. Catherine decided she would sleep in the guestroom. Recalling the intruder from the night before, she decided to check the house. First, she checked all the doors: locked. The windows were also all locked. Reassured, she extinguished all the lights and went to bed, falling to sleep immediately.
Click. Catherine sat up in bed. Her front door had just been unlocked. The door squeaked open and Catherine heard footsteps. Catherine pinched herself on the arm. It's a dream, it's only a dream, she thought fiercely, trying desperately to make the intruder disappear, but she knew she was awake. This wasn't a dream. Slowly, Catherine got out of bed. She was surprised to find she had never changed out of her work clothes. I guess I was more tired than I thought. The creak of floorboards brought her quickly back and she found herself suddenly wide-awake. She grabbed the gun from the small of her back and crept towards the door. She opened it slowly, but it only revealed darkness. Whoever was in her house had excellent night vision. Luckily, Catherine's eyes had already adjusted to the dark by this time and she had the advantage of knowing where all the furniture was. Creeping along the wall towards the kitchen where the floorboards had creaked, Catherine held her breath. She found the light switch that would illuminate the kitchen and the living room and took a deep breath. Just as she flicked the switch, the front door slammed. Not again! Catherine's mind screamed. She raced to the front door. The knob was locked, but the bolt wasn't. Catherine knew she had locked both of them before going to bed. Turning on the outdoor lights, Catherine looked out the window and slid the bolt back into place. Outside, all was still. Still watching her front yard, Catherine picked up her cell phone and dialed Grissom.
"Hello?"
"Grissom?" He actually sounded tired.
"Catherine? It's the middle of the night!"
"You call me in the middle of the night all the time!" Catherine protested.
"I know, but I'm your supervisor –"
"Someone was in my house."
"When?" He was awake now.
"Just now. Whoever it is has a key, Grissom. They have to have a key. They couldn't get in otherwise. I checked all my locks before I went to bed and I heard them unlock the door!"
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Catherine said, suddenly taking in her breath. Whoever it was had come for a reason. What did they want this time? "Grissom, they didn't do anything. They didn't know I was awake. Why did they leave?"
"I don't know Catherine. Are you sure everything's okay?"
"No, I'm not sure of anything."
"Do you want the police over there?"
"No."
"Do you need anything?"
"Just stay on the line, Gil. I'm going to check the house. If something happens…" Catherine trailed off.
"Are you sure you don't want someone over there?"
"I'm fine. Okay, I'm turning on all the lights. I'm checking the kitchen where I heard floorboards creak. There's nothing here – oh my gosh."
"What is it Catherine?"
"A note." Catherine whispered.
"Catherine? Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Grissom, it says…it says…"