Nick looked at Sara as she entered the room, noting the creases forming in
her forehead and around her mouth. She carried a loose stack of paper and
began speaking without making eye contact.
"All right, guys. Give me the picture."
"I thought you got your statement," Warrick replied, placing a t-shirt onto the surface of the large table in front of him.
"I did. I need you guys to flesh it out, make sure the statement matches the evidence."
Nick sighed. "OK, Sara. Here's what we've got."
Warrick gestured at the items on the table. "One white towel, bloodstained. One t-shirt, medium, blood on the front. One pair of jeans with pieces of gravel stuck to it.."
"One inline skate, size 8, long groove on the back and side," Nick continued. "Piece of gravel in groove and on the skate are consistent with what we collected from the body."
"So you have a scratched skate and dirty jeans? What does that tell you?" Sara asked, moving closer to inspect the skate.
"We're getting there," Warrick answered. "The skate has a smudged print- smeared blood. I've also got a pair of skater pants, navy blue, size 32 waist. Too big for the victim."
"What's so special about the skater pants?"
Nick pointed to the knee on the right leg. "Small tear. Fabric matches the piece you found on the cactus at the dump site."
Sara released an explosive breath, her fingers rising to the bridge of her nose. "I see. Put the pieces together for me."
Warrick began ahead of Nick. "I think it went down like this. Joey was wearing the skates, probably in the complex parking lot. The skates are Darrell's; too big for Joey's feet. Joey lost his balance, fell backward, scraping the skate and his elbows against the asphalt."
"He probably hit head hard, either on a curb or the lot itself," Nick interjected. "The print on the skate is Darrell's-he tried to take the skates off. Took Joey upstairs, put the towel against his head.."
"After that, we're not sure," Warrick admitted. "Darrell was at the scene, dumped the body. Between the fall and the dump-who knows what happened?"
"I know," said Sara, placing the stack of papers on the table. "Darrell's statement." She gestured her hand toward the stack. "Darrell's account meshes with yours-Joey took the skates, Darrell didn't know. He heard Joey yell from the fall. He took Joey to their bedroom and gave him an aspirin. Joey said he was sleepy. Darrell came back twenty minutes later."
"Let me guess," Nick began, "Darrell freaked. He changed Joey's clothes, hid the t-shirt, jeans, and skates in the closet." Nick's brow furrowed. "How did Darrell get Joey to dump site?"
Sara read from the statement. "He borrowed his friend's car-'96 Celica. Police are impounding it now. The upholstery fibers we lifted should be a match."
"I don't get it," Warrick stated. "Why didn't Darrell call 911? Why didn't he come clean?"
"He was scared," Nick answered, his eyes unfocused. "How would he tell the Mandels? What if the state took him away?"
"You got it. Darrell thought it was just a fall-that's why he says he didn't call 911. He said he'd fallen before like that himself and just got a hell of a headache. When he found Joey dead, he panicked."
"And the whole thing was an accident, covered by a scared teenager?" Warrick shook his head as Sara merely nodded in response.
"What's the charge?" Nick asked.
Sara's shoulders slumped before she answered. "I don't know. That's up to the D.A. The cover-up is enough to hold him for now."
"You told Grissom yet?"
"Not yet." As she turned to leave, she realized that she wasn't looking forward to telling Grissom, either.
"More coffee, Jim? Isn't it time for you to go home?" Catherine's held a slight smile as Brass poured coffee into the nearest mug.
"Yeah, right. After the night I've had? I have to do something besides babysitting at some point." He took a small sip from the mug and grimaced. "How long has this been sitting out?"
"Your guess is as good as mine-I just got back," Catherine answered, taking another bite of her salad as Brass added sugar to his beverage. Speaking from the side of her mouth, she asked, "How is Grissom, anyway?"
"Right now, who knows?. He was pissed earlier." Brass pulled a chair from under the break table and took a seat, leaning forward with a barely suppressed grin. "You heard what happened?"
Catherine leaned forward. "It's the talk of the building. Sara put the smackdown on Gil. He must have been pleased," she smirked.
"You have no idea." Brass paused for another sip. "I don't know what the deal is with this case, or with him and Sara, but he was burned up something bad about it."
"Burned," Catherine mused. "That's one word for it."
Brass continued, barely noticing her comment. "You shoulda seen it-she stood up straight in his face-" Brass sat upright, shoulders back, mimicking Sara, "'I told you not to fuck up my case.'"
Catherine stared at Brass, her smile curling. "You're kidding! She said that?"
"Hell, yeah. 'Grissom will be taking the night off. Please escort him home.'" Brass drank again, his eyes squinting. "Lemme tell you-I don't ever want to piss that woman off."
"Damn; I can't believe she did that."
"Girl's got a spine-and a temper. I pity Gil for crossing her." Brass rose from his seat and crossed to the counter, pouring the rest of his coffee into the sink. "See ya, Cath. Like I said: I gotta do something for the paycheck." He left the room, leaving Catherine alone at the table. She remained there, bemused, for a few moments before continuing her lunch.
"All right, guys. Give me the picture."
"I thought you got your statement," Warrick replied, placing a t-shirt onto the surface of the large table in front of him.
"I did. I need you guys to flesh it out, make sure the statement matches the evidence."
Nick sighed. "OK, Sara. Here's what we've got."
Warrick gestured at the items on the table. "One white towel, bloodstained. One t-shirt, medium, blood on the front. One pair of jeans with pieces of gravel stuck to it.."
"One inline skate, size 8, long groove on the back and side," Nick continued. "Piece of gravel in groove and on the skate are consistent with what we collected from the body."
"So you have a scratched skate and dirty jeans? What does that tell you?" Sara asked, moving closer to inspect the skate.
"We're getting there," Warrick answered. "The skate has a smudged print- smeared blood. I've also got a pair of skater pants, navy blue, size 32 waist. Too big for the victim."
"What's so special about the skater pants?"
Nick pointed to the knee on the right leg. "Small tear. Fabric matches the piece you found on the cactus at the dump site."
Sara released an explosive breath, her fingers rising to the bridge of her nose. "I see. Put the pieces together for me."
Warrick began ahead of Nick. "I think it went down like this. Joey was wearing the skates, probably in the complex parking lot. The skates are Darrell's; too big for Joey's feet. Joey lost his balance, fell backward, scraping the skate and his elbows against the asphalt."
"He probably hit head hard, either on a curb or the lot itself," Nick interjected. "The print on the skate is Darrell's-he tried to take the skates off. Took Joey upstairs, put the towel against his head.."
"After that, we're not sure," Warrick admitted. "Darrell was at the scene, dumped the body. Between the fall and the dump-who knows what happened?"
"I know," said Sara, placing the stack of papers on the table. "Darrell's statement." She gestured her hand toward the stack. "Darrell's account meshes with yours-Joey took the skates, Darrell didn't know. He heard Joey yell from the fall. He took Joey to their bedroom and gave him an aspirin. Joey said he was sleepy. Darrell came back twenty minutes later."
"Let me guess," Nick began, "Darrell freaked. He changed Joey's clothes, hid the t-shirt, jeans, and skates in the closet." Nick's brow furrowed. "How did Darrell get Joey to dump site?"
Sara read from the statement. "He borrowed his friend's car-'96 Celica. Police are impounding it now. The upholstery fibers we lifted should be a match."
"I don't get it," Warrick stated. "Why didn't Darrell call 911? Why didn't he come clean?"
"He was scared," Nick answered, his eyes unfocused. "How would he tell the Mandels? What if the state took him away?"
"You got it. Darrell thought it was just a fall-that's why he says he didn't call 911. He said he'd fallen before like that himself and just got a hell of a headache. When he found Joey dead, he panicked."
"And the whole thing was an accident, covered by a scared teenager?" Warrick shook his head as Sara merely nodded in response.
"What's the charge?" Nick asked.
Sara's shoulders slumped before she answered. "I don't know. That's up to the D.A. The cover-up is enough to hold him for now."
"You told Grissom yet?"
"Not yet." As she turned to leave, she realized that she wasn't looking forward to telling Grissom, either.
"More coffee, Jim? Isn't it time for you to go home?" Catherine's held a slight smile as Brass poured coffee into the nearest mug.
"Yeah, right. After the night I've had? I have to do something besides babysitting at some point." He took a small sip from the mug and grimaced. "How long has this been sitting out?"
"Your guess is as good as mine-I just got back," Catherine answered, taking another bite of her salad as Brass added sugar to his beverage. Speaking from the side of her mouth, she asked, "How is Grissom, anyway?"
"Right now, who knows?. He was pissed earlier." Brass pulled a chair from under the break table and took a seat, leaning forward with a barely suppressed grin. "You heard what happened?"
Catherine leaned forward. "It's the talk of the building. Sara put the smackdown on Gil. He must have been pleased," she smirked.
"You have no idea." Brass paused for another sip. "I don't know what the deal is with this case, or with him and Sara, but he was burned up something bad about it."
"Burned," Catherine mused. "That's one word for it."
Brass continued, barely noticing her comment. "You shoulda seen it-she stood up straight in his face-" Brass sat upright, shoulders back, mimicking Sara, "'I told you not to fuck up my case.'"
Catherine stared at Brass, her smile curling. "You're kidding! She said that?"
"Hell, yeah. 'Grissom will be taking the night off. Please escort him home.'" Brass drank again, his eyes squinting. "Lemme tell you-I don't ever want to piss that woman off."
"Damn; I can't believe she did that."
"Girl's got a spine-and a temper. I pity Gil for crossing her." Brass rose from his seat and crossed to the counter, pouring the rest of his coffee into the sink. "See ya, Cath. Like I said: I gotta do something for the paycheck." He left the room, leaving Catherine alone at the table. She remained there, bemused, for a few moments before continuing her lunch.