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

Remuneration, Part 22
by Cheers

The image of Shelly Danbridge's face was visible on the viewing room display. The bruises on her small face seemed even more pronounced on the monitor. Cheryl Danbridge was unable to look away from the image of her little girl. They had been allowed to see the body for a brief moment, but the coroner wouldn't allow them to touch their daughter.

The victim's grandmother hadn't come. Martha Danbridge simply couldn't bring herself to look at Shelly's body. She didn't want to remember her granddaughter that way. She wanted to remember the little girl who skipped and played and loved the wildflowers.

Shelly's father had stepped into the viewing room with his arm around his wife. When she moved toward the monitor that showed Shelly's face, he turned away. Ron Danbridge didn't have any questions for the coroner. His eyes had told him all he wanted to know. Shelly was dead and her death had been brutal. He balled his fists and shut his eyes tight against the knowledge, as if somehow by sheer will he could make the reality he saw go away. An overwhelming need to kill the man who did it filled him. Five minutes. That's all he would need. Five minutes alone with that bastard and he'd show the pervert exactly what it must have felt like to Shelly.

To little Shelly.

His rage turned to uncontrolled sobbing and he found himself sitting in the corner of the room with his wife in his arms. Oh God in heaven, why her. Why their precious little Shelly….


Nick was headed for the DNA lab after receiving Greg's page. He noticed the lights were on in Grissom's office. Stopping in the hallway outside, Nick looked in while Grissom worked with the depth of concentration that was the envy of just about everyone in the lab. The scene in Grissom's office was familiar. Nick continued to spy for several more minutes before moving on. Grissom was hard at it on a case that had nothing to do with his current troubles. Typical.

There was a white foam board with dozens of individual insect specimens pinned to it. Grissom had arranged them in some order that signified species and then by size. Evidence jars were stacked on his desk and books were opened one on top of the other. Currently, Grissom was looking through the field microscope at a specimen and then consulting one of the books on his desk. Most likely some chart.

Crossing his arms, Nick wondered what his boss might be thinking - probably about nothing but bugs right now. Grissom had to know that there were people hard at work trying to exonerate him. He was powerless to help in his own defense. Nick understood what he was going through. It was tough to have a possible murder charge hanging over your head. Nick hadn't been able to do anything but wait and pray that Catherine found the evidence to prove he hadn't killed Kristy Hopkins. Nick's situation had been different. His own actions had put him in contact with Kristy at her home just before she was killed. Grissom hadn't done anything but just be Grissom, and he was suspected of a much more heinous crime. In the eyes of the law, the murder of an adult was very different from the sexual assault and murder of a child. All death was tragic. It just seemed that the loss of so innocent a life was more so. Grissom must be going through hell. No one would know it by observing him bent over his desk. But then, there was a lot about Grissom none of them knew. Turning away, Nick headed for the DNA lab.

Arriving in DNA, Nick found Greg hard at work as well. "I got your page, Greggo."

Greg Saunders looked up from the microscope he was peering through.

"What have you got?" Nick asked.

"Well," Greg replied, rolling his stool sideways so he could pick up a completed report and hand it to the CSI. "I did a comparison like you asked. The two bags aren't consistent."

Taking the report from Greg, Nick gave it a quick read. "Hey, that's great man. This is really going to help."

"Uh," Greg continued holding up a gloved finger. "I didn't stop there though."

Nick looked back at the lab tech. "Oh?"

Greg grinned. "I figured we needed a slam dunk, so I ran all the bags from the box found in Grissom's Tahoe. They are all consistent with each other but not with the trash bag the victim was found in. The bag used to dump her body did not come from Grissom's box." Greg handed Nick the second report.

That brought a smile to Nick's face. "Oh man, that's perfect. Thanks buddy."

With reports in hand, Nick headed for Ecklie's office. With the information he had from the trash bag manufacturer's quality assurance expert and Greg's reports as well as the abundance of dog hairs, he had a pretty good case that Grissom was not the man who killed Shelly. He knew one supervisor who would hate the news, another who would love it, and a certain rookie detective who needed the reports stapled right between the eyes.


Warrick hung up the phone from a fruitless conversation with the manager of yet another all-night cleaners. Sara was finishing with another call to a dry cleaners on her own half of the list.

Hanging up, Sara turned to her partner. "I'm beginning to think that laundry mark didn't come from anywhere here in town."

"Or maybe we were wrong about that number being a laundry mark," Warrick offered.

Sara thought about that a moment before answering. "Maybe … it's a tailoring mark."

"Tailoring?" Warrick asked. "I thought we had decided that suit was from off the rack."

"Yeah, but don't guys buy off the rack and then have a suit fitted later?" Sara wondered.

Warrick nodded. "Yeah, they do," he said slowly, thinking about the possibility.

"So maybe we should be calling tailors," she said.

"Maybe," Warrick said.


Midnight was rapidly approaching. He stood in a darkened room and stared out at the night. Las Vegas lights beckoned but he did not heed. His mind was preoccupied with his new find.

Perhaps he was pushing things. The police had a suspect for the death. That left him room to pursue what he needed. The last encounter had not satisfied him. Maybe this one would.

With his dog lying asleep in front of an easy chair, he wondered if Robin would be at play tomorrow. The ache in his groin told him he was a little more that hopeful that she would be.