This story is based on characters created by Anthony E. Zuiker for the television series CSI: Crime Scene Investigation.
Remuneration, Part 8
by Cheers
"911 Dispatch received a call at 23:03 stating that there was a dead body behind a store in town. The call was made from a payphone located in front of this grocery store. I grabbed a uniform and we began a search of the area here." Carl Paulson pointed with his chin to indicate the alleyway behind the Albertson's where they presently stood. "This garbage bag was lying right there. I opened the end to check the contents and a foot dropped out. I looked inside and found a hand, felt for a pulse. Then I called forensics."
"Did you glove up?" Nick asked, making good eye contact with the detective. The forensic nightmare of a contaminated crime scene, especially when children were involved, was something Nick really didn't want to have to deal with.
"Followed protocol to the letter," Paulson insisted.
Placing his hands on his hips and glancing back at the body, Nick nodded to acknowledge the detective's assertion. "Did anyone else touch anything?"
"No," Paulson said, a little peeved at the continued grilling by the criminalist. "As I said, protocol was followed to the letter."
"Hey, man. You know I have to ask." Nick gave Detective Paulson an easy grin. "You're new in Homicide, aren't you?"
Paulson nodded.
"Yeah, I know how that can be. Don't sweat it." Nick said, trying to use his easy going Texas good ol'-boy demeanor to smooth the road with the new detective.
Paulson wasn't appeased much. "Yeah, well, I get enough crap from my Commanding."
"Who, Brass?" Nick asked, still trying to soothe the detective.
The detective gave the CSI a reassessing look. "You know him?"
"Oh yeah," Nick said knowingly. "He used to be my boss."
With the detective's ruffled feathers apparently smoothed, Nick returned his attention to the body. Setting up halogen flood lamps on the asphalt near the body helped him see to work. Donning latex gloves, he started by photographing the entire scene, taking several locator shots before moving to the close-ups. The body lay half on, half off the asphalt drive that ran along the back of the store's rear façade. The drive provided delivery trucks with access to twin loading docks at the back receiving entrance to the building. The outer margin of asphalt gave way to a rough dirt and gravel mixture that ran out for about twenty feet or so to a chain link fence edging the store's property line all along the back perimeter of the large commercial lot. Fresh tire treads were clearly noticeable in the dirt within three feet of the body. There was what looked like short drag marks that seemed to coincide with the location of the victim's right shoulder. It looked like someone drove up to this spot, pulled the body out of the vehicle and dragged it the short distance to its current location.
The mystery was why the person or persons involved with dumping the body here hadn't used the dumpsters located only twenty feet away. If they had, the tire treads wouldn't be clearly visible. Luck, or the perpetrator's stupidity, was on Nick's side at the moment. He had photographed the tire tracks and the drag marks and was making a mental note to cast the tread impressions when the detective and a uniformed officer approached him.
"Mr. Stokes?" Paulson said.
"It's Nick."
Paulson nodded. "Okay. Nick, Officer Mickelson here has some interesting information."
"What's up?" Nick asked the uniform.
Officer Mickelson consulted his notebook. "There was an APB put out about half an hour ago involving an eight-year-old girl who is missing from a condominium complex two miles from here. Blonde, four feet tall, forty-five pounds, dime-sized birthmark on the left shoulder. The bulletin says she was last seen in a pink and white dress with pink socks and tennis shoes with flowers on them."
All three men looked at the garbage bag that enshrouded the dead child who matched the description to a T'. No one spoke for a moment.
Finally, Nick asked quietly, "Do we have a name?"
Mickelson swallowed hard before answering, "Shelley Danbridge."
"Grissom?"
Gil turned to the officer who had called his name. He had been trying to listen to the reports coming in over the police band radio he had acquired from one of the uniforms at the apartment. A DB had been reported behind the grocery store he had just been at an hour before. It was a child.
"There's a call for you, sir," the officer said, handing a cell phone to the criminalist.
"Thank you," Gil told the officer, who moved away to give him some privacy. Gil turned his back and spoke into the phone, "Grissom."
"Gris, it's Nick."
"Nick?" Gil's brows furrowed. "What's wrong?"
"I heard the APB that was put out is about a neighbor of yours," Nick's voice told him. "The officer there told me you were with the family."
"That's right." Gil tried to keep his voice neutral. He looked over to see that Mrs. Danbridge was watching him carefully, hope clearly written on her face. If Nick was calling about the APB that could only mean one thing, a DB he had been sent to investigate matched Shelly's description. Until he was certain that the body Nick was dealing with was the missing girl, Gil didn't want to let Mrs. Danbridge know.
Nick apparently picked up on his hesitation because his voice said, "I understand you probably can't talk where you are. The description matches a DB I pulled at the Albertson's on Ash. I thought there might be a chance for a positive identification so I called the officer issuing the APB."
Carefully pulling a mask of neutrality over his features, Gil said, "That's a good idea. I'll be right there."
"I'll be here."
Gil turned the phone off and went to give it back to the officer who had supplied it to him. He informed the officer of his intent to check out the DB at the grocery store before moving back to speak with Mrs. Danbridge.
"Have they found her? Is she okay?" Mrs. Danbridge asked anxiously as Gil approached.
Gil sat down on the couch beside his neighbor. "I don't know," he said gently. "I think this may be a lead but I won't know until I get more information."
"But where is she?" Mrs. Danbridge insisted, nervously reaching out and taking hold of Grissom's hand.
Gil looked at the hands that clutched his. Besides talking with Shelly's parents and assuring them that everything possible was being done, this was the hardest thing he had had to do so far tonight.
He glanced back to Mrs. Danbridge's face … and lied. "I don't know yet," he told her softly. "I'm going to go and consult with a friend of mine in the department. He may be able to help us find Shelly."
"Is he as good as you?" she wanted to know.
Gil gave her his kindest smile. "He's as good as they come."
Mrs. Danbridge seemed to relax a little at his reassurance.
"As soon as I know anything at all I'll tell you," he continued. "I promise."
Rising, Gil left his building to head to a crime scene for the second time on his night off. Only this time he knew what he was going to find. And it was breaking his heart.
