A/N: Not much to say here—'cept that the shoe I'm using—at the time I conceived this story—it hadn't been released yet. However, as you might have guessed—it's on the market now. That's what I get for being slow I guess. Ah well. Um, as always, read if you must, and reviews are always nice. Constructive criticism helps.
Read on!!
* * * * *
*CRUNCH*
She chewed slowly, holding the green apple a few inches from her face. Her eyes were staring intently at the file that lay before her. The tabletop was a mess of scattered papers.
An organized chaos.
*CRUNCH.*
She took another bite; wiping her bottom lip with her finger. The sounds of her chewing interrupted the quiet lounge. Nary a soul was in there. She flipped another page.
As she brought the apple to her mouth, she paused before taking a bite. Her brow furrowed as her eyes read the sheet. Her chewing stopped. The apple quickly forgotten. Her back straightened as she sat higher in her chair.
A slow smile spread across her face.
"You've been busy."
Her eyes looked over the paper, towards the doorway. Her eyebrows shot up in semi surprise.
"Hey—I was just about to come find you." She pushed her chair back, standing up from the table. The file was still in her hand.
A tiny grin escaped his lips.
"Well—here I am." He took a couple steps into the lounge. She hadn't moved from the table; her eyes were still reading. After a moment, she quickly glanced at him.
"Yea—yea you are—here, take a look at this," she handed him two sheets of paper as he walked closer. He took them, rotating the paper as so he could read it. He studied them for a moment. She watched him, trying desperately to hide her own smile.
"Tell me you see it."
No immediate response.
After a couple seconds, he looked up at her.
"Good work." A simultaneous smile spread across both their faces. A soft sigh escaped her as she picked up another file. She handed it to him.
"After hours of pouring over the information—which you see here," she gestured towards the table. He glanced at it, then back at her. "I was able to find a match to our print—which you are holding now." He instinctively looked at the two diagrams he was holding. On one side, was a photo of the print they had taken at the scene, on the other, a computer printout of a matching sole. He looked back up at her. She was still smiling.
"So?"
"So—the shoe you are holding belongs to Adidas—but you already knew that," he gave a slight nod in agreement. She grinned. "However—more importantly—or actually—more interestingly—is that, that sole— it matches the 'Adidas A3'—men's size 12."
His brow furrowed.
"And why wasn't it in the database?"
She grinned.
"I was hoping you were going to ask that," she picked up another file. "That's what makes this shoe so interesting—take a look at this." She handed him another packet.
"What's this?" He glanced at the file quickly, then looked at her.
"Tha—that is the sales record from the distribution warehouse—dated about a month ago."
"Ok?"
She nodded towards him.
"Look at it."
He looked down.
"Ok—."
"It's in alphabetical order." She walked around the table and stood next to him. She pointed at the list of shoes.
"This sheet tell us the what, the when and the where—what shoes were being sold to the different companies, when they were being sold—and most importantly—where they were being sold."
He glanced at her.
"Interesting."
She smiled.
"However—not as interesting as this—take a look at the list—what do you see?"
He squinted.
"What am I looking for?"
"The A3."
He read the paper for a couple minutes. She busied herself by moving some papers around on the table. He flipped a page—then flipped it back.
"I don't see it."
She looked at him.
"You sure?"
He looked at the paper again, then back at her. He nodded.
"Yes."
"Ha—good. I was hoping you'd say that." She took the paper back.
"Why?" He seemed perplexed.
"Because—," she picked up another packet. "The A3 wasn't on that list a month ago," she handed him the packet. "It wasn't even on the list from two weeks ago."
He raised an eyebrow as he took the sheets of paper.
"What you have there—is the distribution list from one week ago—take a look at it—it's slightly different." She drummed her fingers on the table top as she waited for him.
It took him only a moment. He looked at her.
"It's on here."
She nodded, her smile returned. He looked back down at the paper.
"And what does that tell us?"
She pointed at the paper again.
"That tell us—that this particular shoe—began shipment only a week ago. And you'll notice—that the Boulevard right here in Vegas—is the only mall in Nevada that has them at this very moment."
He frowned slightly.
"So any person of the public could have bought them by now?"
She shook her head.
"No—not yet. You'll notice that the shipments are only going to busy commercialist areas. New York, Boston, Chicago, LA, Las Vegas. They haven't been sold to the smaller cities yet."
"So?"
"So—that tells me that—this shoe—has yet to make its debut to the public. It's still sitting in the backroom of the numerous shoe stores out at The Boulevard."
He looked at her.
"And you know this for a fact—from the data."
She gave a small shrug.
"Well—that was a nice start—however after I found out that the shoes was only shipped a week ago—I called the company to verify."
"Ah."
She grinned.
"Yea—and I was told—without a doubt—that the shoe we have here—would not go on sale to the public—until the 15th."
He looked at his watch.
"That's what—a week from now?"
Her grin got wider.
"Exactly."
After a moment, he smiled.
"So now that we've got the shoe—can you tell me where they are?"
She picked up another sheet.
"Out of the ten shoe stores in the mall—I've narrowed it down to six—the rest were either just women's shoes—like Lady Footlocker—or just frilly business type shoes—the A3 wouldn't be sold at any of them."
He looked at her, and opened his mouth as if to say something; but then stopped.
She gave a lopsided grin.
After a moment, he just shook his head slightly.
"So—now that we have the stores—do we have the employees?"
She nodded.
"I'm running a comparison right now—to see if any of the names match up with what we already have," she checked her watch. "Should just be a few more hours."
He inhaled slowly, looking at the paper. After a moment, he looked at her.
"This is good—this is real good."
She smiled broadly.
"Thanks."
He continued to look at her for a moment. She noticed his stare.
"What?"
He just shook his head, a tiny smile forming at the corners of his mouth.
"Hey Gil—there you are. Hey Sara." The two looked towards the doorway.
"Hello—Jim," Grissom have a slight nod towards the detective. Sara didn't say anything, she became suddenly fascinated with rearranging the papers on the table.
"Hey look—hope I'm not interrupting anything—but we've got permission to check out the vic's residence. ASAP," he pointed towards his watch.
Grissom nodded.
"I'll be right there."
"Don't be too long," the detective smirked. "I'll meet you outside in the lot—remember, ASAP." He gave a slight wave as he exited the room.
Grissom blinked a few times, then sighed. He looked at Sara.
"Looks like we're needed."
She frowned slightly.
"We?"
He gave her a perplexed look.
"Aren't you going?"
"Wh—well—sure—I didn't—know—um—yea. Sure. Uh—lemme just get these out of here," she pushed the papers together rapidly. He gave a small smile.
"I'll meet you outside in a few minutes then."
She pushed some hair behind her ear.
"Um—ok sure." She stacked the files accordingly, then picked them up. "Few minutes."
He looked back at her as he stepped out the doorway.
"Ok."
His gaze followed her down the hallway.
All she could do was grin.
* * * * *
"Next time—I pick the music," Nick picked up his silver briefcase, then slammed the door shut.
"Not as long as I'm drivin'," Warrick stuffed the keys in his pocket as he picked up his own briefcase.
"Fine—next time, I drive."
Warrick shook his head.
"Not if I can help it."
"What's wrong with my driving?"
He shrugged.
"Nothin'—it's the music you pick." Warrick shook his head, as if trying to get rid of the memories.
Nick trudged along beside him through the tall grass.
"What's wrong with my music?"
"Nothin'—I just don't like it."
"Oh, wow—I see how that's fair—you get to listen to the stuff you like—but I don't—cuz you don't like it."
Warrick just nodded.
Nick grumbled something inaudible, but decided to drop it. The eeriness of the graveyard was creeping up on him again. He glanced around nervously.
"Wh-what are we lookin' for again—ouch." He stopped in his tracks, and wiped something off his face. "God damn bugs," he wiped his hand on his pant leg. Warrick smiled a little.
"You shoulda brought bug spray."
Nick scowled.
"I did."
Warrick raised an eyebrow.
"So where is it?"
Nick thought for a moment.
"I guess I forgot it back in the truck."
"Nice genius."
He made a face at Warrick.
"Give me the keys and I'll run back and get it—c'mon Warrick." He held out his hand.
"Oh, so you're gonna leave me all alone in a cemetery," he handed Nick the keys. Nick nodded, a smile on his face.
"I'm sure you can handle it."
"Oh, I know I can—its you I'm worried about."
Nick made another face, as he turned around in the path. He looked over his shoulder.
"I'll be ok—just don't solve the case before me."
Warrick smirked.
"You better hurry then."
Nick shook his head as he picked up a slow jog, leaving his partner behind.
"Hey! Don't forget my keys!"
Nick just waved the comment away with his free hand. Running with the briefcase was a bit awkward.
Warrick watched him for a moment, then shook his head as he turned and continued down the path.
As the street came into view, Nick slowed to a walk. Breathing slightly heavier than he would have liked to, he switched the briefcase into his other hand; the keys still in his pocket. He approached the vehicle, dropping the briefcase by the curb. He quickly reached in and grabbed the keys.
Upon opening the trunk, he searched for a few moments before finding the bug spray.
"There you are," he said softly, grasping the canister. He pulled it out from underneath a blanket. Stepping a few feet away from the truck, he covered himself heavily with the repellant. He could smell the tell tale fumes of the spray. Oddly, it comforted him.
After he was finished, he capped the bottle and tossed it back in the trunk. Quickly checking to see if he had the keys, he closed the back door. Wiping his hands, he stepped onto the curb, and towards the briefcase.
However, something caught his eye as he bent over to pick up the case. He stood up slowly, peering over the path towards the cemetery. Something didn't seem right. He walked closer towards the path, leaving the briefcase behind. He stood there for a moment at the top of the path, looking out on to the cemetery.
It occurred to him after a moment—what was wrong. He unclipped his radio from his belt.
"Warrick?" He waited for a response. It took a couple seconds.
"I'm here."
"Where are you?"
"Where I'm supposed to be—why?" The static hissed in the background.
Nick squinted into the distance.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes I'm sure."
Nick frowned.
"What are you doing up there?"
He ignored the question.
"Hey look Warrick—can you do me a favor—I think I have a hunch."
It took a moment for the reply.
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
"Look—shine your flashlight around—so I can see where you are."
"You're kidding right?"
"C'mon Warrick."
"Alright alright. Shining flashlight—now."
Nick looked around to find it.
"Do you see it?"
"Hold on—keep going."
After a moment—he saw the light. It was coming from behind a small hill.
"Hey I found it—ok you can stop now."
The light disappeared.
"Now care to tell me what that was all about?"
Nick grinned.
"I think we just found what we were looking for."
Warrick just looked at him.
"You keep saying that."
* * * * *
Brass leaned against the door, turning the key. He raised an eyebrow at the two CSI's.
"Hope you're not allergic to cats."
The two scientists looked at each other, both slightly confused.
Grissom raised an eyebrow.
"Cats?"
Brass opened the door a little.
"Yea—police report said she had two of 'em—hope you don't mind."
He opened the door fully, allowing the two scientists through first. Sara looked at the detective as she went by.
"Cats—I don't mind cats." Brass smiled a little. Grissom just shook his head.
The three entered the tiny apartment. Sara glanced around, flashlight in hand. She looked at Grissom.
"What are we looking for?"
He looked around.
"Anything—evidence of a boyfriend—friends—you know, the usual."
She nodded.
"The usual."
She stepped towards the entertainment center, as Grissom headed over to the bookcase. Brass clapped his hands together.
"I'll go check with the land lord—see if our vic had any 'regular visitors'," he took a step out the door, then looked back in the room. "Remember, don't leave with out me."
Grissom gave him a Look. Sara flat out ignored him. The detective just shook his head as he left.
Sara looked over the entertainment center. The shelving unit caught her attention.
"Hmm—seems our vic was a movie buff," she squinted at the titles. "There's easily over sixty here."
Grissom looked over at her.
"DVD or VHS?"
She smiled.
"Both."
He just nodded.
"Looks like more DVD though."
He nodded absently.
"It is the future you know."
She ran her finger along the titles.
"Die Hard Trilogy—Hudson Hawk—The Last Boy Scout—Armageddon—The Sixth Sense—," she looked over at Grissom. "She was a Bruce Willis fan—,"a small smile on her face. "Good choice."
"What?"
She looked back at him.
"O-o nothing. Making a mental note ya know," she spoke quickly. He gave her an odd look. She gave him a weird smile, then hastily looked back the shelf.
Her eyes traveled over the movies, then on to the CD's. As she stood there, reading the titles, Grissom walked across the room, towards the entertainment center where she was standing. She gave him a sideways glance. He was looking around the TV, his eyes scanning the shelf on which it sat.
"Hmm—'The Stranger'," she took the CD out of the shelf. She flipped it over slowly, looking at it intently. He glanced down at what she was holding. "This was a good CD—," she put the case back. "A classic."
She sighed, thinking for a moment.
She blinked a few times.
"The concert was better though."
He paused, glancing at her.
A smile formed at the corners of his mouth.
"Yes—yes it was."
She smiled to herself as she looked over the final two shelves. They held the rest of the CD's. Crouching down, she looked at the bottom shelf. Again, nothing but videos.
She sighed standing up.
"I've got nothin' over here—what's that?"
Grissom was now holding a framed photo.
She peered over his shoulder at it. It was a picture of their victim, Elizabeth, and someone else. A male.
"Hmm—maybe it's her brother."
He gave a Look.
"Then why was it facing down? On top of this shelf?"
She looked at the top shelf—it was fairly high off the ground.
"Ok—sounds like it was someone she was trying to forget."
He nodded.
"Out of sight—out of mind."
She watched him stare at the photo.
"So what? Ex-boyfriend maybe?"
He thought for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek.
He looked at her.
"Maybe. Or perhaps—something more?"