This story is based on characters created by Anthony E. Zuiker for the television series CSI: Crime Scene Investigation.
Remuneration, Part 35
by Cheers
It took a ladder, flashlight, screwdriver, and a little elbow grease, but in just under ten minutes Sara had managed to open a hole in the ceiling of the bedroom closet that housed a secret small chamber. She had noticed new drywall on the back portion of the closet ceiling - the seam tape had been visible through a coat of new paint. In the chamber Sara found a revolver. This she handed down to Officer Nobilo, who placed it in an evidence bag after making sure there were no bullets in the barrel. Sara also found some ammunition and a file folder with some papers in it.
Taking the evidence she had found, Sara entered the dining area where DiMarco sat across from Jim Brass. "Look what I found," she announced, holding up the evidence bag that held the gun. "It's a .22 caliber."
"Isn't that interesting," Brass said, looking from the CSI to his suspect. "Care to explain that, Mr. DiMarco?"
Chris gave the gun only the briefest of glances before returning his attention to the table top. He had done what was necessary. Let the cops prove what they could prove. He shrugged.
"No, huh," Jim continued. "You know what? That's okay. We'll all just go downtown and see what Ballistics has to tell us." Rising, Brass nodded to Officer Nobilo, indicating it was time to take the suspect into custody.
Gil Grissom entered the park with purposeful measured strides. Robin Freeman had been abducted by a man who had used a dog as a lure. Shelly Danbridge's body had been covered with dog hair. It was a good bet that the same man was responsible for both abductions. A good bet but by no means a sure bet. This was Vegas and everybody in this town knew there was no such thing as a sure bet.
There was evidence, though. There was always evidence. Grissom would find that evidence. There wasn't going to be another tragedy like the death of his neighbor's granddaughter. Not if it was within his power to prevent it. Gil would do anything to keep this little girl from suffering the same fate as Shelly Danbridge.
Along with several dozen Police Academy cadets, Nick Stokes, and seven of Las Vegas' finest, Grissom ordered the initial sweep of the park to commence. Everyone in the search line began to walk slowly forward, visually scanning the ground before them for any sign or clue that might have been left behind. The hunt for Robin Freeman had begun.
Bobby Dawson had long since gone home. Ballistics was currently run by Joel Edwards. "Hey Edwards," Warrick said as he and Sara entered. "What do you have for us?"
Joel looked up from the scope he was peering through and smiled. "Hey, Rick, Sara."
Sara smiled back. She had always liked Joel Edwards. He was as friendly as Bobby Dawson but, unlike the Texan, Joel was a Vegas native. He and Warrick had gone to the same high school and had played on the same baseball team. It was kind of cool to have a window into Warrick's childhood. Edwards never seemed to care if his stories embarrassed Warrick. More often than not, they painted Warrick as a normal kid growing up in a city that seemed to be populated with anything but normal people.
Now wasn't the time for school days stories. Joel came straight to it. "What we have here is a Smith and Wesson K-22 Masterpiece. A real nice one, too. Vintage 1947 model. That was the first full year of production of the K-22 series after World War II. This is one sweet item."
"K-22," Warrick said. ".22 caliber long barrel?"
Joel nodded. "Yep."
"Just what Bobby told us we'd be looking for," Sara added.
"What about the ammo?" Warrick asked.
"That's the most interesting thing here," Joel said looking at the cartridges scattered over his work area. "Take a look at the scope."
Warrick did. What he saw made him grin. "Hollow shell casing - no powder rounds."
Joel grinned. "Add a rimfire long barrel pistol and you have yourself a slow velocity projectile that is perfect for your case."
"So you did a test fire?" Sara asked, grinning as she caught the contagious enthusiasm of the Ballistics tech.
"And got a match," Joel informed the CSIs. "You have your murder weapon."
Blaine McCallister had not been able to identify anyone when she looked through mug shots of known sex offenders. That meant one of two things - their man had never been arrested in Nevada for sexual assault or Ms. McCallister could not clearly identify him. Since her identification of the voice had been so certain, Carl tended to lean toward the former.
Thanks to a call from Sheriff Mobley, who was as upset by the abduction of another Las Vegas child as any politician would be, the listing of all registered dog owners in Las Vegas was finally on Carl Paulson's desk. The list of registered dog owners was thousands of names long. Since he knew they were dealing with a large black lab, Paulson narrowed the list quickly to 2455 names - owners of dogs over 35 pounds. It would take time to search a list of that length and cross-reference it with the list of registered vehicle owners that he had. Enlisting the assistance of Sergeant O'Riley, Paulson set to work.
The search line had halted. Grissom trotted over to the spot that the cadet indicated. Lying in the grass just three feet away from the parking area was a small plastic purple barrette. The kind a young girl would use to pull back her hair.
After taking a picture of the barrette where it lay, Grissom picked it up with gloved hands and placed it in a clear plastic evidence bag.
Mrs. Freeman waited with Officer May at the other edge of the main grass area on this side of the park. Gil reached them quickly.
Holding the bag up so that the woman could look at it clearly, Grissom asked, "Do you recognize this, Mrs. Freeman?"
The anxious mother responded immediately. "Oh my god," she said, horrified. "That's Robin's. She always puts barrettes in her hair. Purple is her favorite color."
"Are you certain this belongs to your daughter?" Grissom wanted to know.
Mrs. Freeman began to shake as tears poured down her face. "She wore those this morning. I helped her put them in."
The urgency of the situation forced Gil to put aside the emotions he felt. There was no room for that now. "She was wearing another barrette like this one?" Grissom pressed.
The woman nodded. "They come in pairs," she said through her tears. "We bought those at the mall just last week."
"And your daughter was wearing both of them this morning?"
Again Mrs. Freeman nodded.
"Thank you," Grissom said gently. "That's a big help."
As Grissom turned to go back to the search, Mrs. Freeman reached out and took hold of his jacket sleeve. "You're going to find her, aren't you?" the mother pleaded, desperation in her voice. "She's going to be all right?"
Déjà vu overtook Gil as he remembered vividly the face of Martha Danbridge and the promise he had made to her. The image of the dead body of Shelly Danbridge loomed in his mind. He felt his chest tighten. This time he looked into the face of a frantic and grieving woman and told the truth. "I hope so, Mrs. Freeman."
