Disclaimer and Summary in Chapter 1
Grissom removed his glasses and lifted his fingers to massage his temples. He could feel the beginning of a migraine, a slow pulse deep inside his brain. Yawning, he looked at the clock to check the time. 3:15AM. He'd been staring at the photographs for almost two hours and still he had no new ideas as to what happened to the little boy. His best guess was that the boy had fallen, but he didn't know where or how. Every picture is worth a thousand words, he mused bitterly, but these pictures don't tell me a damn thing. Pushing his chair back from his desk he rose and stretched his arms over his head. Time for some coffee.
Sara sat in the break room, relaxing from her task of examining the clothing. She had turned the clothing inside out upon the hunch that the boy's clothes were changed after the injuries were inflicted. She did find some small bloodstains and bits of gravel, all meticulously swabbed and bagged and given to Greg. So far, neither she nor Warrick nor Nick had found anything beyond what was collected at the scene, and Sara was becoming frustrated. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, trying to flush her brain for a moment and maybe come up with a new angle.
Grissom stood in the doorway of the break room, watching Sara rotate her neck, eyes closed. He could see the lines of frustration etched on her forehead, but he assumed he sported a similar look himself. Sara rotated her head to her left and Grissom, wincing, could hear the crack from the doorway. When was the last time she got some fresh air? Some sunshine, a good warm stretch in the early morning? Grissom shook his head, wondering the same thing about himself. Crime scene investigating vampires, rarely seeing daylight, fluttering like ghosts through the halls of the lab. How long have I been doing this? How long will she, before she realizes that her whole life is wrapped up in dead bodies and has passed her by and there's nothing else she can do? Will she have the same enthusiasm then, or will she burnout long before....
Sara shrugged her shoulders, releasing some tension from the aching muscles. She opened her eyes and saw Grissom staring at her. Staring through her, actually, eyes faraway and filled with regret, his face soft. Sara watched him, wondering what he was thinking and trying to figure why this case was hitting him so hard. "Gris?"
Grissom shook his head and blinked, confused for a moment before he realized what he had been thinking. "Hey, Sara," he said softly, crossing to the coffeepot and reaching for his mug.
"Are you all right?"
Grissom nodded as he poured his coffee, carefully replacing the carafe. "I'm fine. A little tired."
Sara nodded as Grissom sank his frame into the couch. "Same here. I got nothing more from the clothes. Found bloodstains inside the sleeves and pant legs. If they match, we'll know that the clothing was changed after death."
"I'm sure it was," Grissom replied, taking a sip of the coffee and licking his upper lip. He looked up at Sara, noticing that her eyes were locked on his face. He blinked again, filing away her concern. "I didn't get anything more from the photos, either…"
Sara knew he was saying something else, but she didn't catch it. Her eyes were still locked on his mouth as he took another sip of coffee and repeated the licking motion, his words floating past her ears. "Sara?"
"Hmm?" She brought herself back to present, tearing her eyes away from his mouth and secretly scolding herself for staring. "Sorry. What?"
"I said that I think we're missing something. I don't know what, but there's something else at the scene."
"What do you think it's could be?"
"Remember Locard's Principle? The killer left something of himself. He had to." Grissom took another drink of coffee, staring at the floor as he swallowed. "We don't have all the pieces of this puzzle, and I'm thinking- "
A shrill repeating beep sounded in the room, causing Sara and Grissom to reach for their hips. Grissom held up his pager, squinting at the display. "It's mine. Robbins."
"The missing piece?"
The corners of Grissom's mouth turned up in a slight smile. "Maybe. Let's go find out."
Grissom and Sara entered the autopsy bay to find Robbins standing before an array of x-rays, staring intently. Upon hearing their footsteps, Robbins turned to address the pair. "I have the rest of my report for you, Gil."
"What did you find?"
Robbins sighed as he handled a file to Grissom. Sara leaned into Grissom to view the report over his shoulder as Robbins continued. "I'm afraid it's what I thought. Multiple fractures to the ribcage, arms, and legs. Fractured right clavicle, thin fracture to the front of the skull. None related to cause of death, all healed some time ago. I'd estimate the last fracture was to the clavicle about six months ago."
Sara raised her eyes to the wall of x-rays, noting the thin lines appearing in what should have been smooth bone. "This boy was abused." Robbins nodded.
Grissom clenched his jaw once again as he skimmed the report and x-rays. "So we have a boy who was abused, cause of death ruled as cerebral hemorrhage from skull fracture, and no idea who the boy is, much less who did it?" Robbins' eyes dropped to the floor while Sara's eyes locked again onto Grissom's face. His brows were knitted furiously, his thumb burning white where he gripped the folder containing the report. "Son of a bitch."
Grissom raised his eyes back to the x-rays while Robbins and Sara exchanged raised eyebrows. He spoke again, this time addressing the images, "Son of a bitch."
By sunrise, all analysis had been completed. The team gathered once again in the conference room to compare notes and look over all the materials found. Grissom sat slumped in his chair at the head of the table, his glasses tossed upon the casefile. His blue eyes were fixed on the file, unmoving. Sara noticed this with great concern; even during the Anderson case with the missing baby, Grissom had kept his focus, fought through his attachment to the victim. Since Robbins had delivered the report of his further findings on the victim, Grissom had barely spoken, and Sara was becoming worried. She could understand his previous concerns to her own empathic approach in past cases. Even without his warnings during those times, she could sense her feelings enveloping her, consuming her and clouding her judgment. She had lashed out at Grissom after those cases in part because she was ashamed of the mistakes she could have made during those times, and in part because he was right. She knew that Grissom could read her better than she could read him, but Sara had a feeling that Grissom was holding those same senses of empathy and emotional warfare within himself.
Nick and Warrick exchanged their own looks of concern over Grissom's mental distance. Warrick couldn't recall a time when Grissom had not been in control of a case, although he had seen Grissom's attention slipping since that last run-in with Millander. Millander had unnerved Grissom, Warrick conceded, if anything could shake the man. He wasn't sure exactly what could shake Grissom's foundation, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
Nick was the first to break the uncomfortable silence. "Well, boss, what do we have?"
Grissom didn't move, and Nick didn't think his question had penetrated Grissom's apparent haze. Just as Nick opened his mouth to ask again, Grissom looked up and slowly reached for his glasses. "Nick, why don't you start?" he sighed as he slipped his glasses into place. Meeting Nick's eyes, he implored further, "What did you make on the gravel?"
"Not much. Asphalt, nothing special. Vegas is paved with the stuff, so I can't use it to narrow down where the injury occurred. Greg gave me the results on the white fibers Robbins found in the wound-white cotton, probably a towel."
"I got the other fibers," Warrick offered, tossing a printed report into the center of the table. "Carpet fibers. Car upholstery. Body was definitely transported."
"Maybe not, Warrick," Grissom disagreed. "The injury could have occurred on the side of the road. The fibers could have been from an earlier instance."
"Maybe. The cast was a bust. Partial matches a running shoe, retailed widely, indeterminate size. Could belong to the killer."
"Could belong to the vic," Sara interjected. "We don't know if we're dealing with an accident or a murder."
"How can you say that, Sara? What the hell would a kid that age be doing that far out of town?"
"I don't know, Nick, but we've seen stranger. Gris and I talked to Robbins," Sara said, sneaking a look at Grissom, who was still staring at the file. "This boy was abused. He could have been running away."
"And he could have been killed by the abuser."
"Nick's right, Sara," Warrick nodded. "We've got the white fibers, which aren't explained from hitchhiking. The clothes were changed after the injuries; there's no blood. The point is-"
"The point is that we don't know." Grissom massaged his temples and closed his eyes as three pairs of eyes snapped to attention upon his face. He gritted his teeth as his low voice continued, "We have no idea what happened to this boy. The evidence, the x-rays, the photos--none of it is giving us the full story. We're missing something, and sitting here talking about it is not going to solve this case." Grissom rose his head, revealing a faraway look in his eyes. He stood up and began a slow stride to the door of the room.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going back to the crime scene, Warrick," Grissom breathed. "There's something out there and I have to find it." Grissom strode out the door and toward the exit of the building.
Sara, Nick, and Warrick sat in a stunned silence, looking back and forth at each other and the door. Warrick began shaking his head. "Five years I've been here, and I've never seen him like that."
Nick nodded. "What's with him? Why this case?"
"Who knows?" Sara almost whispered. "We know almost nothing about him to figure out why this case."
"And he's right. We've got nothing but dog hairs, fibers, and asphalt. We don't even know who the boy is." Warrick leaned back in his chair, absently scratching his chin. "And I don't know what we could have missed at the crime scene. There wasn't a lot."
"But it was dark," Sara mused, a pensive look on her face. "Gris might be right, we may be missing something."
Nick rolled his eyes. "Man, the last thing I need tonight is you acting all weird, too."
Sara arched her eyebrow at him. "Then maybe you should keep looking over those missing persons reports, Nicky."
Nick opened his mouth to retort but Warrick stopped him with a hand to the shoulder, recognizing the danger in Sara's face. "Sure, Sara, we'll both work on it. What are you gonna do?"
Rising from her chair, Sara answered, "Track down Locard."
She ignored the confused looks coming from Nick and Warrick as she left the room.
Grissom removed his glasses and lifted his fingers to massage his temples. He could feel the beginning of a migraine, a slow pulse deep inside his brain. Yawning, he looked at the clock to check the time. 3:15AM. He'd been staring at the photographs for almost two hours and still he had no new ideas as to what happened to the little boy. His best guess was that the boy had fallen, but he didn't know where or how. Every picture is worth a thousand words, he mused bitterly, but these pictures don't tell me a damn thing. Pushing his chair back from his desk he rose and stretched his arms over his head. Time for some coffee.
Sara sat in the break room, relaxing from her task of examining the clothing. She had turned the clothing inside out upon the hunch that the boy's clothes were changed after the injuries were inflicted. She did find some small bloodstains and bits of gravel, all meticulously swabbed and bagged and given to Greg. So far, neither she nor Warrick nor Nick had found anything beyond what was collected at the scene, and Sara was becoming frustrated. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, trying to flush her brain for a moment and maybe come up with a new angle.
Grissom stood in the doorway of the break room, watching Sara rotate her neck, eyes closed. He could see the lines of frustration etched on her forehead, but he assumed he sported a similar look himself. Sara rotated her head to her left and Grissom, wincing, could hear the crack from the doorway. When was the last time she got some fresh air? Some sunshine, a good warm stretch in the early morning? Grissom shook his head, wondering the same thing about himself. Crime scene investigating vampires, rarely seeing daylight, fluttering like ghosts through the halls of the lab. How long have I been doing this? How long will she, before she realizes that her whole life is wrapped up in dead bodies and has passed her by and there's nothing else she can do? Will she have the same enthusiasm then, or will she burnout long before....
Sara shrugged her shoulders, releasing some tension from the aching muscles. She opened her eyes and saw Grissom staring at her. Staring through her, actually, eyes faraway and filled with regret, his face soft. Sara watched him, wondering what he was thinking and trying to figure why this case was hitting him so hard. "Gris?"
Grissom shook his head and blinked, confused for a moment before he realized what he had been thinking. "Hey, Sara," he said softly, crossing to the coffeepot and reaching for his mug.
"Are you all right?"
Grissom nodded as he poured his coffee, carefully replacing the carafe. "I'm fine. A little tired."
Sara nodded as Grissom sank his frame into the couch. "Same here. I got nothing more from the clothes. Found bloodstains inside the sleeves and pant legs. If they match, we'll know that the clothing was changed after death."
"I'm sure it was," Grissom replied, taking a sip of the coffee and licking his upper lip. He looked up at Sara, noticing that her eyes were locked on his face. He blinked again, filing away her concern. "I didn't get anything more from the photos, either…"
Sara knew he was saying something else, but she didn't catch it. Her eyes were still locked on his mouth as he took another sip of coffee and repeated the licking motion, his words floating past her ears. "Sara?"
"Hmm?" She brought herself back to present, tearing her eyes away from his mouth and secretly scolding herself for staring. "Sorry. What?"
"I said that I think we're missing something. I don't know what, but there's something else at the scene."
"What do you think it's could be?"
"Remember Locard's Principle? The killer left something of himself. He had to." Grissom took another drink of coffee, staring at the floor as he swallowed. "We don't have all the pieces of this puzzle, and I'm thinking- "
A shrill repeating beep sounded in the room, causing Sara and Grissom to reach for their hips. Grissom held up his pager, squinting at the display. "It's mine. Robbins."
"The missing piece?"
The corners of Grissom's mouth turned up in a slight smile. "Maybe. Let's go find out."
Grissom and Sara entered the autopsy bay to find Robbins standing before an array of x-rays, staring intently. Upon hearing their footsteps, Robbins turned to address the pair. "I have the rest of my report for you, Gil."
"What did you find?"
Robbins sighed as he handled a file to Grissom. Sara leaned into Grissom to view the report over his shoulder as Robbins continued. "I'm afraid it's what I thought. Multiple fractures to the ribcage, arms, and legs. Fractured right clavicle, thin fracture to the front of the skull. None related to cause of death, all healed some time ago. I'd estimate the last fracture was to the clavicle about six months ago."
Sara raised her eyes to the wall of x-rays, noting the thin lines appearing in what should have been smooth bone. "This boy was abused." Robbins nodded.
Grissom clenched his jaw once again as he skimmed the report and x-rays. "So we have a boy who was abused, cause of death ruled as cerebral hemorrhage from skull fracture, and no idea who the boy is, much less who did it?" Robbins' eyes dropped to the floor while Sara's eyes locked again onto Grissom's face. His brows were knitted furiously, his thumb burning white where he gripped the folder containing the report. "Son of a bitch."
Grissom raised his eyes back to the x-rays while Robbins and Sara exchanged raised eyebrows. He spoke again, this time addressing the images, "Son of a bitch."
By sunrise, all analysis had been completed. The team gathered once again in the conference room to compare notes and look over all the materials found. Grissom sat slumped in his chair at the head of the table, his glasses tossed upon the casefile. His blue eyes were fixed on the file, unmoving. Sara noticed this with great concern; even during the Anderson case with the missing baby, Grissom had kept his focus, fought through his attachment to the victim. Since Robbins had delivered the report of his further findings on the victim, Grissom had barely spoken, and Sara was becoming worried. She could understand his previous concerns to her own empathic approach in past cases. Even without his warnings during those times, she could sense her feelings enveloping her, consuming her and clouding her judgment. She had lashed out at Grissom after those cases in part because she was ashamed of the mistakes she could have made during those times, and in part because he was right. She knew that Grissom could read her better than she could read him, but Sara had a feeling that Grissom was holding those same senses of empathy and emotional warfare within himself.
Nick and Warrick exchanged their own looks of concern over Grissom's mental distance. Warrick couldn't recall a time when Grissom had not been in control of a case, although he had seen Grissom's attention slipping since that last run-in with Millander. Millander had unnerved Grissom, Warrick conceded, if anything could shake the man. He wasn't sure exactly what could shake Grissom's foundation, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
Nick was the first to break the uncomfortable silence. "Well, boss, what do we have?"
Grissom didn't move, and Nick didn't think his question had penetrated Grissom's apparent haze. Just as Nick opened his mouth to ask again, Grissom looked up and slowly reached for his glasses. "Nick, why don't you start?" he sighed as he slipped his glasses into place. Meeting Nick's eyes, he implored further, "What did you make on the gravel?"
"Not much. Asphalt, nothing special. Vegas is paved with the stuff, so I can't use it to narrow down where the injury occurred. Greg gave me the results on the white fibers Robbins found in the wound-white cotton, probably a towel."
"I got the other fibers," Warrick offered, tossing a printed report into the center of the table. "Carpet fibers. Car upholstery. Body was definitely transported."
"Maybe not, Warrick," Grissom disagreed. "The injury could have occurred on the side of the road. The fibers could have been from an earlier instance."
"Maybe. The cast was a bust. Partial matches a running shoe, retailed widely, indeterminate size. Could belong to the killer."
"Could belong to the vic," Sara interjected. "We don't know if we're dealing with an accident or a murder."
"How can you say that, Sara? What the hell would a kid that age be doing that far out of town?"
"I don't know, Nick, but we've seen stranger. Gris and I talked to Robbins," Sara said, sneaking a look at Grissom, who was still staring at the file. "This boy was abused. He could have been running away."
"And he could have been killed by the abuser."
"Nick's right, Sara," Warrick nodded. "We've got the white fibers, which aren't explained from hitchhiking. The clothes were changed after the injuries; there's no blood. The point is-"
"The point is that we don't know." Grissom massaged his temples and closed his eyes as three pairs of eyes snapped to attention upon his face. He gritted his teeth as his low voice continued, "We have no idea what happened to this boy. The evidence, the x-rays, the photos--none of it is giving us the full story. We're missing something, and sitting here talking about it is not going to solve this case." Grissom rose his head, revealing a faraway look in his eyes. He stood up and began a slow stride to the door of the room.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going back to the crime scene, Warrick," Grissom breathed. "There's something out there and I have to find it." Grissom strode out the door and toward the exit of the building.
Sara, Nick, and Warrick sat in a stunned silence, looking back and forth at each other and the door. Warrick began shaking his head. "Five years I've been here, and I've never seen him like that."
Nick nodded. "What's with him? Why this case?"
"Who knows?" Sara almost whispered. "We know almost nothing about him to figure out why this case."
"And he's right. We've got nothing but dog hairs, fibers, and asphalt. We don't even know who the boy is." Warrick leaned back in his chair, absently scratching his chin. "And I don't know what we could have missed at the crime scene. There wasn't a lot."
"But it was dark," Sara mused, a pensive look on her face. "Gris might be right, we may be missing something."
Nick rolled his eyes. "Man, the last thing I need tonight is you acting all weird, too."
Sara arched her eyebrow at him. "Then maybe you should keep looking over those missing persons reports, Nicky."
Nick opened his mouth to retort but Warrick stopped him with a hand to the shoulder, recognizing the danger in Sara's face. "Sure, Sara, we'll both work on it. What are you gonna do?"
Rising from her chair, Sara answered, "Track down Locard."
She ignored the confused looks coming from Nick and Warrick as she left the room.