A/N: Sorry for my lack of updates…hopefully I haven't driven anyone away. But uh, between the end of school, other ideas, and plain old writer's block…this chapter has been hard to come by. Ever have that problem where you have the rest of the story mapped out…and u need that one chapter to fit it altogether? And it just won't come to you? Well that's the problem I had. And that's enough about me babbling.
Um, so now that we're finally back from commercial…here's chapter 4. I'm going to start referring to this fic as the "lost episode" of season 3. Just cuz. So um ya, read if you must, and reviews are always nice…(constructive criticism helps too!)
Read on!
* * * * * * * * *
"You're just mad cuz I found the case breaker."
Warrick looked at Nick.
"No—I'm mad cuz I just spent half the night tryin' to get prints off of nuthin—and my neck hurts."
He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. He looked down.
"Plus—I got my shoes dirty."
"Aw ya big baby—would you like some cheese with that whine?"
Nick grinned at the other CSI as they continued to walk through the illuminated hallway. Warrick mumbled something inaudible back to his partner.
Nick just shook his head.
They strode through the hallway, stopping only at the DNA lab.
"Let's see what our man Greg has for us, shall we?" Nick opened the door. "You first."
Warrick sighed, taking a step into the laboratory. Nick followed closely behind him.
"Hey Greg."
The young man sitting behind a microscope looked up.
"Hey guys." He sounded tired. He looked back down the microscope.
Nick and Warrick walked over to the table where he was seated. They looked expectantly at the Lab Tech.
Greg glanced up after a moment. He looked between the two.
"What?"
Nick gave a slight smile as he looked at Warrick, then back down at Greg.
"Got our results?"
Greg just stared at him. The two CSI's frowned.
"Hat—hair—DNA—any of this ring a bell?"
Greg thought for a moment before shaking his head.
"Sorry guys."
Nick sighed, as he leaned against the table.
"Sorry?"
Greg looked at him, shrugging slightly.
"Sorry—Days has me bogged down me with a triple murder suicide, and three carjackings," he held up three fingers. "Plus—Grissom's pushed his case up—you're just gonna hafta wait."
"Wait?" Nick frowned. Greg nodded.
"C'mon Greg—."
The Lab Tech shook his head.
"Sorry guys, no can do."
Nick stood up, sighing angrily.
"You're just gonna hafta wait—not even—not even a new copy of Vice City can help you."
Nick frowned again.
Greg shrugged innocently.
As Nick turned to leave, Warrick looked at Greg.
"Just call us when you get anything ok?"
The younger man nodded.
Warrick just shook his head, as he exited the lab.
"Now what?" Nick was leaning against the far wall. Warrick shrugged.
"Back to the scene? See if we missed anything?"
Nick did not seem to like that answer. He didn't respond.
After a few moments of silence, they heard footsteps coming closer. Nick looked at Warrick, then glanced down the hall. They watched a figure approach.
"Hey boss." Nick nodded vaguely towards Grissom as he walked by. The older man glanced up from his notes—but kept walking.
"Hey," he continued down the hallway, seemingly lost in thought.
Nick and Warrick looked at him curiously.
Then they looked at each other.
They both shrugged.
Grissom paused in his step, as he turned around to face the two younger CSI's.
"Hey guys—have you seen Catherine?"
Nick looked at Warrick, then back at Grissom.
"Uh—you might try the Layout room," Nick pointed down the hall.
The older man thought about that for moment, then gave a slight nod as he continued on his way.
The two watched him for a moment—then looked at each other.
They both shrugged.
* * * * *
Catherine sighed as she surveyed the table in front of her. The once clean space was now cluttered with a numerous amount of photographs. She pushed her bangs behind her ear as she leaned over the table.
"Where to begin," she muttered, scanning the glossy photos. She paused for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek; thinking. There seemed no clear way to begin. She sighed loudly.
"Might as well."
"Might as well what?"
She jumped slightly.
Her face contorted into a frown as she looked towards the door.
"Jesus Gil." Her breathing relaxed a little. Grissom gave a small smile, as he walked towards the table. He eyed her over his glasses.
"I knocked you know."
She rolled her eyes.
"Try making it so I can hear it next time."
Grissom just shook his head, letting the comment pass. He looked over the table.
"How many?"
She sighed again, picking up a photo.
"Hundred and nineteen—exactly."
Grissom raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.
"Busy night then."
She looked at him.
"You have no idea."
He frowned. She tossed the picture back down on the table. He looked at the pile again. After a moment, he spoke.
"What do you know?"
She shook her head faintly.
"Right now, not much—except, where it happened."
"Oh?"
That piqued his curiosity. She picked up a photo and handed it to him. He took it with one hand.
"There was a shed, located about eighty feet from the pool, back at the edge of the property," she handed him another photo, a close-up of the shed. "The blood, along with the footprints, led us there." She picked up another picture.
"And as we moved around to the east side of the structure—we came upon this." She handed him another picture. He took it carefully. Apart from the yellow marker, designating it number one hundred and two; the picture was a sea of dark red. The ground was almost indistinguishable from the blood.
He grimaced slightly. After a moment, he looked at her.
"Murder weapon?"
She shook her head.
"Nope—nothing was found in the immediate area—no signs of struggle—no weapon—just blood and footprints." She tossed another picture down. "But they've got dogs searching the premises—see if anything shows up." She pulled a photo out from under a pile. She studied the photograph for a minute.
"O—and Brass brought the hostess of this shindig in for questioning." She looked at him. "Speaking of which—have you talked to her yet?" He didn't look up.
She kept staring.
After a moment, he glanced at her.
"I'm going to." He looked back down at the pictures.
He didn't budge.
She eyed him carefully.
"Soon?"
No response.
She stared at him for a moment longer, then sighed. She slowly reached over and took the pictures from him. He looked up in surprise.
"Well—when you finally do—please keep me informed." She set the photos down on the table. He gave a small smile.
"Right." He took a step back towards the door.
She watched him go.
"I'll call ya if anything comes up."
He nodded his approval. She turned back towards the table. Another sigh escaped her lips.
The door slowly closed behind him.
* * * * * *
"'Bout time you got here—don't tell me you got lost."
Grissom frowned as he closed the door behind him.
"Nice to see you too Jim."
The Homicide Detective smiled.
The older CSI looked through the one way window.
"Who's this?"
Brass gave a small cough.
"You get right down to business don't you." Grissom glanced at him. Brass coughed again. "Right—Gil Grissom, meet Susanne O'Connell," Brass gestured towards the adjoining room. "Resident of 434 Bradbury Way," he considered the young woman sitting in the next room; she was being questioned by a fellow detective. "She's the one who decided to throw this party."
Grissom gave a slight nod.
"She know anything?"
Brass shook his head.
"Says she was inside all night—havin' a good time—but doesn't remember much. One time she's on the couch, next thing she knows—cops are stormin' the place—and somebody's been found in her pool."
Grissom exhaled slowly.
"'Nothin like a dead body to ruin a good night."
Grissom raised an eyebrow at the detective.
"Right—did she know our vic?"
The detective nodded.
"Says they were friends."
Grissom studied the girl for a minute.
"She doesn't seem distraught."
Brass shrugged, looking at the girl.
"She didn't say good friends."
Grissom glared at him.
The detective cast a sideways glance at the CSI, catching his glare in the process.
"What?"
Grissom just shook his head.
After a moment, he looked quizzically at the cop.
"What about this 'list' I've been hearing about?"
Brass smiled again.
"There's the kicker. Apparently our hostess over there—likes to know who comes to her parties—so before anyone can enter—they have to sign a list that's out front."
Grissom looked at the woman.
"Odd."
Brass shrugged.
"Yea well—you call it odd—I call it our lucky break."
"Hmm, maybe—how many?"
"Seventy two."
Grissom bit his lip.
"Male?"
"Forty or so."
He pondered that for a moment.
"You know—there's a chance he might've not signed it. There's a chance he wasn't even at this party."
Brass sighed.
"But there's a chance he might have—it's a start—what else you got right now?"
Grissom shrugged.
"Footprints."
Brass gave a small laugh, shaking his head.
"You're gonna need more than that you know."
Grissom just looked at him. Brass smiled.
The CSI looked back at the girl.
"Well—she's not a prime suspect—she can leave when she's done." He looked at the detective.
"I'll be sure to tell her that—where are you going?"
Grissom paused as he stepped out the door.
"I have to see someone about a pair of shoes."