Grissom pulled into the visitor parking lot closest to the psychology
department. Rather than purchasing a temporary parking permit, he just
tossed this LVPD placard on the dashboard before climbing out with his
briefcase. It had been months since he had been here, but remembered the
way quite easily.
Once outside the office of Professor Mitchell Hamilton he paused and straightened his jacket. He rapped on the doorframe before allowing the partially open door to swing the rest of the way. "Professor Hamilton?"
The figure behind the desk was almost gaunt in appearance. Gil remembered vaguely that he had been ill for quite some time. Unkempt hair shadowed the man's face even more; he looked more like the depraved individuals he treated than the world-renowned expert he was.
"Mr. Grissom?" He stood up and extended one hand to the investigator, his left hand still held the fountain pen he had been writing with. "I must admit your phone call piqued my interest. The news media has not given a great deal of detail about the case."
Gil shook the man's hand and took the seat that was offered. "I didn't realize that you were already following it."
Hamilton stared at Grissom, one corner of his mouth turned up. "I've been studying the stalking phenomenon for the last five years. Your Mr. Crane is a bit of an oddity. I've only uncovered a few cases where the stalking victim was a male and never have I seen a case where the stalker was interested in both men and women."
"When I heard you lecture last fall, I thought you were researching psychological terrorism, I was surprised to hear you'd switched over to the stalker phenomenon." Gil studied the man closely, he wasn't sure if he wanted him near Nick.
The professor leaned back in his chair. "Really, sir, what's the difference? Governments have used psychological terrorism for decades to control its people. A stalker is just using it on a more personal basis.
Gil raised an eyebrow. "I never thought of it that way. How do you help a victim recover? Can you help him?"
"I'm surprised; I thought that crime scene investigators didn't get involved with the victim's recovery."
A surprising burst of nervous energy shot through Gil and he began to pace, the room suddenly not large enough. "The victim was a member of my team. I guess this affects us all, and we're just beginning to understand just how much."
The silence seemed to resonate, building momentum as it echoed around the room, waiting for Professor Hamilton to give an answer. This lack of control was something new to Grissom and he had already decided that he didn't like it.
The fountain pen made a whistling noise as it dropped from the professor's hand to the mahogany desktop, or so it seemed to Grissom's overactive mind. The clatter it made upon landing was real enough, however. "Most of my work is with the assailant, not the victim, but I'll bring in a colleague of mine that should be able to help. We'll want to start with Mr. Crane first. We need to understand him to be able to understand what he has done."
Gil let out a breath he didn't know he was holding as he opened his briefcase. His unease didn't disappear entirely, but it did seem to lessen. "Thank you. Let me introduce you to Nigel Crane's world."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Warrick eased open the bedroom door, letting the hall light illuminate the room. His guest was curled up on the far edge of the bed, the blankets wrapped tightly around him. "Nick, hey Nick." He kept his voice low, hoping to wake him gradually. Nick shifted slightly, and Warrick increased his volume.
"Nick, hey sorry, but you need to wake up for a few minutes. Nick?" He waited, and Nick slowly opened his eyes, blinking in the dim light.
"Yeah, I'm awake. What's up?" Nick rolled onto his back, but was too tangled to move much more than that.
The tall investigator moved closer and set a bottle of water on the nightstand. "Just you, buddy. The doctor wants me to check on that hard head of yours, and you need to drink some water. Do you think you can do that for me?" Without waiting for a response he started to loosen the bedding and then helped Nick to sit up.
Nick obediently drank the offered water and let Warrick shine a penlight in his eyes before drifting back to sleep. Satisfied, Warrick picked up the bottle and moved back into the kitchen. This time the number he dialed wasn't as familiar and he had to look it up before he dialed.
Hello.
"Hey, Greg, it's Warrick."
Yeah, Warrick, umm, how's Nick doing? I heard he's staying at your place.
"He's not so good, Greg." Warrick took a deep breath and gave the lab technician the short version of what had transpired. "Until he's in a little better shape, I don't think I should leave him alone. That's why I was wondering if you could do me a favor."
Damn, that's got to be rough. What can I do?
Barely paying attention, Warrick listed off the needed groceries as he moved back down the hall and watched the sleeping form in the bed. Nick shuddered and pulled the blankets closer to him. Somehow Warrick felt much older as he watched over his friend.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Catherine joined Sara down in the living room of Nick's home. Through the large hole in the ceiling they could see Paul Newsome as he measured joists and assessed the structural damage caused by Nigel Crane. "What did you tell the kennel about the dog?" Sara mechanically bagged the debris littering the floor.
"I explained that the actual owner was murdered and that Nick was one of the investigators on the case. They've agreed to take care of the dog until a new home is found. The question is, what do we tell Nick?"
"We don't tell him anything." Catherine's answer was resounding enough to even catch Newsome's attention up in the attic. "This is hard enough for him; he doesn't need to know that Nigel took the dog with him and what he did with it. We're just going to let them find a new home for the dog and that will be the end of it." She looked over, then up at her two companions. "Understood?"
They both knew her well enough not to argue.
Once outside the office of Professor Mitchell Hamilton he paused and straightened his jacket. He rapped on the doorframe before allowing the partially open door to swing the rest of the way. "Professor Hamilton?"
The figure behind the desk was almost gaunt in appearance. Gil remembered vaguely that he had been ill for quite some time. Unkempt hair shadowed the man's face even more; he looked more like the depraved individuals he treated than the world-renowned expert he was.
"Mr. Grissom?" He stood up and extended one hand to the investigator, his left hand still held the fountain pen he had been writing with. "I must admit your phone call piqued my interest. The news media has not given a great deal of detail about the case."
Gil shook the man's hand and took the seat that was offered. "I didn't realize that you were already following it."
Hamilton stared at Grissom, one corner of his mouth turned up. "I've been studying the stalking phenomenon for the last five years. Your Mr. Crane is a bit of an oddity. I've only uncovered a few cases where the stalking victim was a male and never have I seen a case where the stalker was interested in both men and women."
"When I heard you lecture last fall, I thought you were researching psychological terrorism, I was surprised to hear you'd switched over to the stalker phenomenon." Gil studied the man closely, he wasn't sure if he wanted him near Nick.
The professor leaned back in his chair. "Really, sir, what's the difference? Governments have used psychological terrorism for decades to control its people. A stalker is just using it on a more personal basis.
Gil raised an eyebrow. "I never thought of it that way. How do you help a victim recover? Can you help him?"
"I'm surprised; I thought that crime scene investigators didn't get involved with the victim's recovery."
A surprising burst of nervous energy shot through Gil and he began to pace, the room suddenly not large enough. "The victim was a member of my team. I guess this affects us all, and we're just beginning to understand just how much."
The silence seemed to resonate, building momentum as it echoed around the room, waiting for Professor Hamilton to give an answer. This lack of control was something new to Grissom and he had already decided that he didn't like it.
The fountain pen made a whistling noise as it dropped from the professor's hand to the mahogany desktop, or so it seemed to Grissom's overactive mind. The clatter it made upon landing was real enough, however. "Most of my work is with the assailant, not the victim, but I'll bring in a colleague of mine that should be able to help. We'll want to start with Mr. Crane first. We need to understand him to be able to understand what he has done."
Gil let out a breath he didn't know he was holding as he opened his briefcase. His unease didn't disappear entirely, but it did seem to lessen. "Thank you. Let me introduce you to Nigel Crane's world."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Warrick eased open the bedroom door, letting the hall light illuminate the room. His guest was curled up on the far edge of the bed, the blankets wrapped tightly around him. "Nick, hey Nick." He kept his voice low, hoping to wake him gradually. Nick shifted slightly, and Warrick increased his volume.
"Nick, hey sorry, but you need to wake up for a few minutes. Nick?" He waited, and Nick slowly opened his eyes, blinking in the dim light.
"Yeah, I'm awake. What's up?" Nick rolled onto his back, but was too tangled to move much more than that.
The tall investigator moved closer and set a bottle of water on the nightstand. "Just you, buddy. The doctor wants me to check on that hard head of yours, and you need to drink some water. Do you think you can do that for me?" Without waiting for a response he started to loosen the bedding and then helped Nick to sit up.
Nick obediently drank the offered water and let Warrick shine a penlight in his eyes before drifting back to sleep. Satisfied, Warrick picked up the bottle and moved back into the kitchen. This time the number he dialed wasn't as familiar and he had to look it up before he dialed.
Hello.
"Hey, Greg, it's Warrick."
Yeah, Warrick, umm, how's Nick doing? I heard he's staying at your place.
"He's not so good, Greg." Warrick took a deep breath and gave the lab technician the short version of what had transpired. "Until he's in a little better shape, I don't think I should leave him alone. That's why I was wondering if you could do me a favor."
Damn, that's got to be rough. What can I do?
Barely paying attention, Warrick listed off the needed groceries as he moved back down the hall and watched the sleeping form in the bed. Nick shuddered and pulled the blankets closer to him. Somehow Warrick felt much older as he watched over his friend.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Catherine joined Sara down in the living room of Nick's home. Through the large hole in the ceiling they could see Paul Newsome as he measured joists and assessed the structural damage caused by Nigel Crane. "What did you tell the kennel about the dog?" Sara mechanically bagged the debris littering the floor.
"I explained that the actual owner was murdered and that Nick was one of the investigators on the case. They've agreed to take care of the dog until a new home is found. The question is, what do we tell Nick?"
"We don't tell him anything." Catherine's answer was resounding enough to even catch Newsome's attention up in the attic. "This is hard enough for him; he doesn't need to know that Nigel took the dog with him and what he did with it. We're just going to let them find a new home for the dog and that will be the end of it." She looked over, then up at her two companions. "Understood?"
They both knew her well enough not to argue.