This story is based on characters created by Anthony E. Zuiker for the television series CSI: Crime Scene Investigation.
Remuneration, Part 27
by Cheers
The news droned in the background as he made preparations for the day. He never saw the images of an impromptu memorial that had sprung up overnight at the site he had dumped the body. He was filled with anticipation. This time nothing would go wrong. He would make certain of that.
As he worked, the words of the newscaster caught his attention.
"Sheriff Brian Mobley is expected to address the city at a news conference scheduled in just a few moments. The family of Shelly Danbridge, the murdered eight-year-old girl, has reportedly already spoken with authorities about the status of the ongoing LVMPD investigation into her death. Here now is Sheriff Mobley…."
Stopping everything else, he listened as the Sheriff spoke. The news conference lasted for nearly twenty minutes. He didn't need to listen to all of it to know that his preparation for the day would have to include some things he had not previously planned on.
By midday the news conference was well over. Gil hadn't watched it. He had slept right through it. After he had sent his team to their respective homes, Gil had called the Sheriff to explain what had happened with Mr. Danbridge and describe the current condition of his face. They both agreed that Gil's absence from the news conference was preferable - the Sheriff because he didn't want to have to explain why his night shift supervisor looked like a barroom brawler and Gil because he hated news conferences out of principle.
The sun was streaming fully though his bedroom window when he awoke to a monstrous headache and the sound of his phone ringing. He winced when he rolled over to reach the receiver.
"Grissom," he said into the phone.
"Dr. Grissom. This is Joel Edwards from Channel 14 news…."
"No comment," Gil cut him short and hung up the phone in disgust. The belief that the news media would leave him alone once he had been cleared of suspicion had obviously been misplaced. He had not completely sat up on the edge of the bed before the phone rang again. Gil scowled at it. He had forwarded all calls to his home number to his voice mail box. Obviously, the box was full. He reached over and turned the ringer off. Dealing with his headache would have to take precedence over trying to deal with his call volume overload.
Serenaded by the continuing ring of the phone in his living room, Gil rose and headed to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. If he was awake, he might as well try to do something constructive with what remained of the daylight.
Carl Paulson spent the early hours of the evening canvassing the neighborhood around Gil Grissom's condo, asking everyone he came across if they remembered seeing anyone with a Labrador or lab mix dog in the area. He had already done a door-to-door in the condo complex. He bypassed Grissom's door. No one who lived there owned that type of dog.
Blaine McCallister, a woman who lived on the ground floor of the complex, did say she remembered a man who walked a large, dark-haired dog regularly in the neighborhood. The general description she was able to give of the man - thirties, medium build, medium height, dark hair - didn't exactly narrow Paulson's search. Hopefully the man had been seen by other residents of the area. With any luck, Paulson would find the man walking his dog and get an opportunity to question him.
One thing Ms. McCallister said gave Paulson pause. "There's just something about him that's kind of … well, odd," she had said. Odd meant something to take note of. Paulson did so.
He walked around the playground for well over an hour. Little Robin did not come out to play. As the sun began to set, he realized that any opportunity to feed his hunger tonight was rapidly disappearing.
That didn't change his plans. He would have to be patient. The longing he felt would be satisfied. Tomorrow would have to be soon enough.
Pleased that there had been fair weather in the past 24 hours in a year that had seen record rainfall for Las Vegas, Gil retrieved the recording equipment he had used to gather temperature, humidity, and light levels in a storage unit only three doors down in the same building as their crime scene. This unit was not only empty but was the same size as the one that housed the body of John Doe. Connecting the RHTemp to his laptop, Gil logged the data the device had recorded since he had placed it there the evening before. After making sure the temperature and humidity readings had been recorded at five minute intervals, he repeated the process with EXTech Light Level Meter. The data logged showed serial measurements of the levels of light in the closed storage unit in foot candles over the past 24 hours. Gil repeated the whole process with an identical set of recording instruments placed just outside the storage unit door. With the information he had gathered, Gil would be able to complete the rest of his PMI estimate.
Being returned to full duty as the night shift supervisor at the Crime Lab didn't deter Gil from his desire to finish the entomological analysis. There was always something very satisfying about completing such analyses.
As Gil was loading his gear into the back of his now reclaimed Tahoe, Warrick and Sara pulled up in an identical vehicle. Warrick rolled down the driver's side window.
"Hey, Gris," he greeted his boss. "Dispatch told us we could find you here."
"Just collecting the data I recorded from the storage unit," Gil explained.
"More bug analysis?" Sara asked from the front passenger seat.
Gil grinned. "Yes," he told her.
Warrick and Sara exchanged amused looks. Grissom was never happier than when he was involved with his bugs.
Turning back to Grissom, Warrick told him why they had stopped. "We found out where the mark on our vic's coat came from."
Gil stepped up next to the open window, his curiosity piqued. "Where?"
"The Tailor's Shoppe inside the Monaco," Warrick informed him. "We're headed there now. Brass got us a warrant."
"Good work," Gil said.
Sara leaned forward to ask, "Want to come along?"
Grissom thought about that for a second. The offer was tempting, but he had some catching up to do at the lab. "No, you go," he told the junior CSIs. Stepping back from their vehicle and pointing a finger at them he said, "Let me know what you find."
Warrick nodded. "Sure thing."
With that, Sara and Warrick pulled away. Gil watched them go before getting into his own SUV. Damn, it was good to be back in full swing. That mental note made him smile at himself. He gingerly rubbed the bruise on his face. Perhaps swing wasn't the best analogy he could have used.
