This story is based on characters created by Anthony E. Zuiker for the television series CSI: Crime Scene Investigation.

Remuneration, Part 5
by Cheers

When that man's hand covered her mouth she could feel the air going away. She struggled and pushed but he was so strong. And then something was around her throat. She wanted to scream but the world was going away. When darkness fell over her she began to dream of the light and the flowers. Pretty flowers.

Somewhere after the nightmare, her spirit skipped into the light and her body lay limp on the floor. Her heart had stopped beating. Strong hands let go of her small corpse.

What he had hoped would be a fulfilling experience was anything but. Now there was the need to do something with the remains of the child. Only that and then to figure out what had gone wrong. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. There wasn't supposed to be a death.


It took Grissom longer to get home from the crime scene than it had for him to get to the We-Store-It because he had decided to stop at the grocery store on the way. He had a desire for a Bloody Mary and needed the mix. While there he picked up some fresh fruit and a half-gallon of low fat milk. Pulling into his parking spot in front of his condominium building, he noticed the police cruiser sitting in the visitor's spot and frowned.

He stepped out of the car and pulled his beeper from his belt. There wasn't a waiting message there. He then pulled his cell phone out of his coat pocket on the off chance that he hadn't heard it ring. There was no message of a missed call either. Picking up the grocery bag and his briefcase from the front seat, Gil closed the driver's side door with his elbow and headed into the building.

Grissom took the stairs as was his habit. He climbed them two at a time and reached his landing quickly. He hit the release bar on the fire door with his hip and pushed through the heavy metal door at the end of the hallway that led to his front door. He took a few steps toward it before coming up short. A uniformed officer stood with a notepad in hand in front of Mrs. Danbridge's doorway. His neighbor was in tears and talking in an animated fashion to the officer.

Martha Danbridge was a woman in her late fifties. Though not a full decade older than Gil, she seemed to accept her role of grandmother with relish. She didn't bother to dye the gray from her hair, nor did she indulge in the benefits of modern plastic surgery. She was fond of saying that the wrinkles that spread from the corners of her eyes and mouth served as her "battle scars" from life. God had given her a fine family and wonderful husband, taken from her last year by a massive heart attack six months after reaching full retirement. Mrs. Danbridge accepted her station as widow and grandmother and lived a full life as far as Grissom could tell. She was involved with her church and a local bridge club, she volunteered at Desert Palm Hospital and she had even been a volunteer victim last month during the external disaster drill held by the city to provide much needed practice in the event of another mass casualty event like 9/11. She was friendly and warm, talkative but not a busybody. Grissom had always enjoyed her as a neighbor.

The officer asked her a question that Grissom couldn't quite make out. He moved toward the pair.

"No, she never leaves after dark! I won't let her outside that late," Mrs. Danbridge insisted, the high pitch of near hysteria in her voice. She noticed Grissom as she wiped at the tears that fell down her cheeks.

"Oh, Dr. Grissom!" Mrs. Danbridge exclaimed. The officer turned to look at Grissom and nodded to him. Gil could see recognition in his eyes. Most of the police officers who worked in the city knew Grissom, by reputation and name, if nothing else. Gil had been in Vegas for a long time and had worked most of the high profile cases in the last decade.

Gil nodded his greeting to the officer and turned his attention to his distraught neighbor. "Mrs. Danbridge, what's wrong? What's happened?"

"It's Shelly, Dr. Grissom," the older woman informed him, barely containing her panic. "She didn't come in for supper this evening. She went out to pick flowers for the dinner table and never came back. I've looked everywhere for her!"

Gil's mind immediately returned to the small figure with the handful of blossoms he had seen that morning. He swallowed - hard. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was 11:17. He felt an unmistakable fear in the pit of his stomach. There wasn't a good excuse for an eight-year-old girl to be out alone this late at night. Gil had seen far too many small bodies to ignore the myriad of bad possibilities her absence could herald.

"When did you last see her?" Gil asked.

"Oh, hours ago!" she said, huge tears continuing down her face.

Grissom looked at the officer. It was the patrolman's job to get the preliminary statement from Mrs. Danbridge, but he wanted to know if the case had been called in yet. He asked the officer as much.

"Not yet. I was just trying to get the statement from Mrs. Danbridge first. It's standard procedure," the officer said.

Grissom resisted the urge to say to hell with standard procedure. The police had protocols for a reason. Gil knew that better than most. He gave the officer what he hoped was an understanding look. "Call it in now. I'll stay here with Mrs. Danbridge and continue getting a statement."

Though not a police officer, Grissom was used to his authoritative presence bringing about the desired results with the rank and file of the Las Vegas PD. This time was no exception. The patrolman nodded and moved off to place the call to dispatch and Gil turned to his neighbor. "We'll find Shelly, Mrs. Danbridge. Don't worry."

Mrs. Danbridge was grateful for his help. Gil just wished the dread that he felt tugging at his own hope would disappear.