Last Voice: A Concerto
12: Rinforando
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The Tahoe stopped outside of a twenty-four-hour convenience store. One of those where they've got everything – toothbrushes, snacks, rubber rats.
Police car…
Grissom put the vehicle in park and took the key out of the ignition. I opened my door.
"Brass said Samson showed up here about –" He checked the car's clock. "—a half hour ago."
"Buying what – gum to patch the roof of his car?"
"Coffee." Grissom opened the door and walked in, almost shutting it in my face. He pointed at a TV monitor mounted on the wall. "That was tuned to the news, and Samson's picture flashed up just in time for the clerk to see it – but Samson had already left."
"And you said there were no coincidences."
"If it had been a coincidence, it would have come up two minutes sooner."
"So, why are we here?"
Grissom shook his head.
"Gil," said Brass as we approached. With him were an officer and someone who appeared to be said clerk.
"What are we supposed to do – dust for prints to prove it was him? Wait, maybe the surveillance tape—"
"Greg. Please." Grissom looked back at the detective.
Brass held up a piece of paper with a generic rubber glove wrapped around it. "No need. He's left you guys a note."
Grissom took the note carefully, using the glove, of course, and unfolded it fingerprint-free.
After a second, it became clear that he didn't intend on sharing. I leaned in to read over his shoulder. It was torn from a notepad – probably just one that had been handy to Samson, judging from the chicken scratch quality of the writing.
To the Las Vegas crime lab—
Seems you've gotten to the media already. Fine by me.
Knew you'd figure it out sooner or later. Too late, though, out of here.
You can prove it too, I hope. Will be severely disappointed if you missed my blood on the table and lamp. Planned to blow it off as having stubbed toe – then I'd have left. Probably the nosebleed that gave it away.
I've brought my medication with me. Not like I'll live very long anyway.
She made some bad decisions.
Oh well. Who hasn't?
Come and get me.
Ted.
"This guy is nuts," I said.
"Yes, he is."
"He wants us to catch him."
"Yes, he does. And it sounds like we were right in the motive department."
"Yup. Looks like he planted the blood, too."
"Not in the alley. That's the nosebleed."
Grissom looked the message over again.
"Medication?"
I swallowed uneasily. "The guy is HIV positive, remember? If his t-cell count is low or he started treatment earlier, he'll have dozens of pills and stuff to take like every hour."
"How do you know so much?"
I didn't answer. I probably should have made up something about doing a report on it in college or something, but I didn't. I didn't say anything.
I hate it when I don't say anything.
I hate not knowing what to say.
"And I turned around, and, like, this guy was like gone!"
The clerk had turned up the volume. By the looks of the unnamed police officer listening to him, it wasn't the first time he had told the story, nor the first time he'd got louder.
I looked at Grissom.
"We should bag this, right?"
"Just in case. Maybe it'll give us some sort of clue as to where he's been or where he's going."
I nodded and set my case on the counter, opening the top and removing an evidence bag.
"We'll get him, won't we?" I asked.
"Of course we will," he said unconvincingly.
"Right."
I held the bag open and Gris dropped the letter into it, still unfolded for reading without cutting the bag.
We talked a little with the clerk – he made me want to ring his neck, he said "like" so many times – before heading back to the Tahoe.
"Can I drive this time?"
Grissom gave me his "I'm amused. Really" look.
"Do you have a lead foot?"
"No."
"Can you steer?"
"Enough."
"Parallel park?"
"I avoid that. C'mon, I've had a license for ten years. Please?"
"Fine. Just quit whining."
I grinned and opened the driver's door and Grissom went around to the passenger's.
"I thought you were twenty-eight."
"I am."
"Then that would be twelve years. Sixteen to twenty-eight."
I buckled the seat belt. "I didn't get it until I was eighteen."
He didn't ask why and I was relieved. More or less. It just would be nice if someone would ask. I would spill it, I know. It would feel better.
Maybe
"Okay. Let's see what we can do with this note."
I sighed and turned the starter.
Even though I was relieved, it would be nice if someone just asked.
A/N: I'm taking driver's ed, in case you forgot, and that's where the inspiration for that last bit came from… Yeah. So. Almost done.
