Disclaimer and Summary in Chapter 1
Grissom was now home, stretched out on his sofa with his eyes closed. He had caught Brass at the station and persuaded him to follow Sara's idea of putting a sketch on the news and opening a hotline. Brass had also promised to send some officers out with the sketch to the neighborhoods at the far end of the Strip to try to shake out a few leads. Sara had confirmed the swept area of the crime scene in the photos, and Grissom was pretty certain they knew how the body has gotten there.
Grissom shifted his ankles over the arm of his sofa, thinking of Sara's face during her inspection of the photos. When she found the shot, she vibrated with the energy of it, the thrill of putting another piece into place. Grissom smiled with the recollection. His migraine medication was taking effect, and he usually found it difficult not to smile in these moments as the pain began to recede. She had been so happy to find the area and build a workable theory. She had wanted to go with Brass, but Grissom forced her to go home. He had to promise to call her as soon as they got a good lead before she would agree.
Yawning, he reached behind his head and repositioned his pillow. His glasses were tossed on his coffee table, next to his cell phone, pager, and cordless phone. He willed them not to ring within the next three hours. He yawned again and slung his right arm over his eyes, drifting into a Fioricet slumber.
The shrill ring of the cellphone broke Grissom's sleep, jarring him away from his vivid, drug-induced dreams. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock on the wall. Two and a half-hours. Close. Reaching out, he grabbed the phone and flipped it open. "Grissom."
"Brass. We've got a lead."
Grissom sat up abruptly, ignoring the stab of pain in his brain that came with the motion. "What do you have?"
"Seven calls from the hotline identifying the kid as Joey Zucker. All peg him at an apartment complex on the 4000 block of Paradise Road."
"Give me the address and I'll meet you there." Grissom listened to Brass' voice, making a mental note as he fumbled on his coffee table for his notebook and pen.
"You want me to call Sara?"
"No, I promised." Grissom hesitated. "I'll need a ride, anyway."
"Migraine?"
Grissom didn't answer. "We'll meet you at the apartment." He disconnected Brass and began dialing the number to Sara's wireless phone.
Sara didn't realize she had dozed off on her sofa until her phone began to ring. She fought it out of her pocket, answering it after the second ring. "Yeah?"
"Did I wake you?"
Upon hearing Grissom's voice her eyes widened and she suppressed all evidence of her exhaustion. "No, I was just—"
"We have a name and an address. Brass is meeting us there."
She picked up her notebook and flipped it open, sliding her pen out of its loop. "What is it? I'll be right there."
"Sara?" Sara listened to the moment of silence before Grissom continued. "I took some medication. Could you give me a ride to the complex?"
Sara closed her eyes upon hearing his slight sigh. She knew he had another migraine, and it must be bad if he took his medication while actively on a case. "Yes. How do I get to your house?" She jotted down his address as he gave it, detecting a bit of a dreamy slur to his words. "OK, give me ten minutes." Sara began to pull the phone away from her ear when she heard him call her name again. "Yeah, Gris?"
"I'll fill you in on the way there. You're the lead."
The meaning of his words sunk into her brain as she realized the position he was in this morning. "OK, Gris. Ten minutes." She flipped her phone closed and headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth before picking up her boss.
Grissom drew a deep breath and replaced his phone to the table. Nothing for him to do now but count the minutes until Sara arrived.
Grissom was standing outside his townhouse when Sara arrived, his kit in hand and dark sunglasses covering his eyes. Sara pulled to the curb to let Grissom into the SUV; she saw him wince as he pulled the passenger door shut after him. "Gris, are you sure you're up to this?"
Buckling his seat belt, he answered, "Yes, I'm fine."
"You don't look fine. You're pale, your eyes are photosensitive, and you're obviously in pain. You should stay here. Brass and I can handle this. I can page Warrick—"
"No," Grissom cut her words off vehemently. He handed her the piece of paper with the address of the apartment. "I'm fine. I'm going. Drive."
Sara sighed as she pulled the Tahoe into the street, catching a glance at his stony face from the corner of her eye. At times like this, he could be infuriating, and she could feel her anger bubbling beneath her skin. Grissom had no business going to the apartment like this, or making her lead on the case without explanation. Her thoughts drifted back to their conversation earlier this morning. She had thought she had gotten through to him about his personal feelings coloring this case, but he had retreated back in his fortress of a brain. Whether his retreat was driven by the headache, the medication, or his own damn stubborn choice, she didn't know. She tried to tell herself she didn't care either, but she did. She wondered now why she bothered to care about him at all.
Grissom marveled at the difference in color of this city through his sunglasses. Watching the asphalt in front of them, he idly pondered why a city bringing in as much money through tourism as Las Vegas could not be bothered to paint lines between the lanes. He struggled through his cloud of a mind to bring himself back to the case, but it was difficult. Looking at the tiny digital clock in the SUV, he calculated an hour until the medicine wore off and he could think clearly again. He was angry with himself for going to a potential scene like this, but he couldn't stay in his home alone and receive the information of the visit from another source. Judging by the way Sara was darting through traffic at an accelerated speed, he could guess that she was irritated, and probably at him. He wasn't sure.
Looking out the window to the roller coaster on top of New York, New York, he wondered if he remembered to feed his pet tarantula this morning.
Grissom was now home, stretched out on his sofa with his eyes closed. He had caught Brass at the station and persuaded him to follow Sara's idea of putting a sketch on the news and opening a hotline. Brass had also promised to send some officers out with the sketch to the neighborhoods at the far end of the Strip to try to shake out a few leads. Sara had confirmed the swept area of the crime scene in the photos, and Grissom was pretty certain they knew how the body has gotten there.
Grissom shifted his ankles over the arm of his sofa, thinking of Sara's face during her inspection of the photos. When she found the shot, she vibrated with the energy of it, the thrill of putting another piece into place. Grissom smiled with the recollection. His migraine medication was taking effect, and he usually found it difficult not to smile in these moments as the pain began to recede. She had been so happy to find the area and build a workable theory. She had wanted to go with Brass, but Grissom forced her to go home. He had to promise to call her as soon as they got a good lead before she would agree.
Yawning, he reached behind his head and repositioned his pillow. His glasses were tossed on his coffee table, next to his cell phone, pager, and cordless phone. He willed them not to ring within the next three hours. He yawned again and slung his right arm over his eyes, drifting into a Fioricet slumber.
The shrill ring of the cellphone broke Grissom's sleep, jarring him away from his vivid, drug-induced dreams. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock on the wall. Two and a half-hours. Close. Reaching out, he grabbed the phone and flipped it open. "Grissom."
"Brass. We've got a lead."
Grissom sat up abruptly, ignoring the stab of pain in his brain that came with the motion. "What do you have?"
"Seven calls from the hotline identifying the kid as Joey Zucker. All peg him at an apartment complex on the 4000 block of Paradise Road."
"Give me the address and I'll meet you there." Grissom listened to Brass' voice, making a mental note as he fumbled on his coffee table for his notebook and pen.
"You want me to call Sara?"
"No, I promised." Grissom hesitated. "I'll need a ride, anyway."
"Migraine?"
Grissom didn't answer. "We'll meet you at the apartment." He disconnected Brass and began dialing the number to Sara's wireless phone.
Sara didn't realize she had dozed off on her sofa until her phone began to ring. She fought it out of her pocket, answering it after the second ring. "Yeah?"
"Did I wake you?"
Upon hearing Grissom's voice her eyes widened and she suppressed all evidence of her exhaustion. "No, I was just—"
"We have a name and an address. Brass is meeting us there."
She picked up her notebook and flipped it open, sliding her pen out of its loop. "What is it? I'll be right there."
"Sara?" Sara listened to the moment of silence before Grissom continued. "I took some medication. Could you give me a ride to the complex?"
Sara closed her eyes upon hearing his slight sigh. She knew he had another migraine, and it must be bad if he took his medication while actively on a case. "Yes. How do I get to your house?" She jotted down his address as he gave it, detecting a bit of a dreamy slur to his words. "OK, give me ten minutes." Sara began to pull the phone away from her ear when she heard him call her name again. "Yeah, Gris?"
"I'll fill you in on the way there. You're the lead."
The meaning of his words sunk into her brain as she realized the position he was in this morning. "OK, Gris. Ten minutes." She flipped her phone closed and headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth before picking up her boss.
Grissom drew a deep breath and replaced his phone to the table. Nothing for him to do now but count the minutes until Sara arrived.
Grissom was standing outside his townhouse when Sara arrived, his kit in hand and dark sunglasses covering his eyes. Sara pulled to the curb to let Grissom into the SUV; she saw him wince as he pulled the passenger door shut after him. "Gris, are you sure you're up to this?"
Buckling his seat belt, he answered, "Yes, I'm fine."
"You don't look fine. You're pale, your eyes are photosensitive, and you're obviously in pain. You should stay here. Brass and I can handle this. I can page Warrick—"
"No," Grissom cut her words off vehemently. He handed her the piece of paper with the address of the apartment. "I'm fine. I'm going. Drive."
Sara sighed as she pulled the Tahoe into the street, catching a glance at his stony face from the corner of her eye. At times like this, he could be infuriating, and she could feel her anger bubbling beneath her skin. Grissom had no business going to the apartment like this, or making her lead on the case without explanation. Her thoughts drifted back to their conversation earlier this morning. She had thought she had gotten through to him about his personal feelings coloring this case, but he had retreated back in his fortress of a brain. Whether his retreat was driven by the headache, the medication, or his own damn stubborn choice, she didn't know. She tried to tell herself she didn't care either, but she did. She wondered now why she bothered to care about him at all.
Grissom marveled at the difference in color of this city through his sunglasses. Watching the asphalt in front of them, he idly pondered why a city bringing in as much money through tourism as Las Vegas could not be bothered to paint lines between the lanes. He struggled through his cloud of a mind to bring himself back to the case, but it was difficult. Looking at the tiny digital clock in the SUV, he calculated an hour until the medicine wore off and he could think clearly again. He was angry with himself for going to a potential scene like this, but he couldn't stay in his home alone and receive the information of the visit from another source. Judging by the way Sara was darting through traffic at an accelerated speed, he could guess that she was irritated, and probably at him. He wasn't sure.
Looking out the window to the roller coaster on top of New York, New York, he wondered if he remembered to feed his pet tarantula this morning.