Title:               Sympathy for the Devil

Author:           Burked

Disclaimers:   CSI is a registered trademark of CBS, Inc. 

"I guess turnabout is fair play," Jacqui said when Sara breached the door.

"That's what they say," Sara agreed.

"Your so-called victim was recently a long-term guest at the Nevada state correctional facility."

"Yeah?  Tell me about him," Sara said, taking a seat next to Jacqui.

"His name is Francis Dellancourt.  He just completed his second stint for child molestation.  Ten years this time.  I'm printing out his vitals for you now."

"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy," Sara said derisively.

"I know we're supposed to remain objective," Jacqui said, lowering her voice to not be overheard, "but I have a hard time getting real worked up when the victim is a shit-bag like this."

"I hear you," Sara nodded.  She rolled her head on her shoulders to try to work out the kinks, and looked at her watch.  "Geez!  How time flies when you're having fun, and I can assure you tonight has been a real blast," she said facetiously.  "It's time for us to blow this popsicle stand."

"I've just got to log off, then I'm right behind you, sister.  Don't slow down unless you want footprints on your back."

* * * * *

She was happy to see that she would be able to maintain her self-imposed schedule.  Richard Hernandez still lived at the address given on the printout.  She would not have to choose another, or waste valuable time tracking him down. 

This was her third day of observing him.  By day, he was a dishwasher at one of the sleazier dives that catered to the local white trash contingent.  God, how she hated white trash.  It was all she could do to remember that it was Hernandez that was to be next.  She could almost be tempted to choose any one of the patrons in his stead.

He spent the three evenings at home.  She assumed by the beer-bottle-filled trash he took out every morning that he drank himself into a stupor every night on cheap beer.  'Good,' she thought to herself.  She wouldn't have to drug this one;  he would do it for her.

She stood in the dark next to the open window at the rear of the apartment.  None of these apartments appeared to be air-conditioned, but several, like this one, had fans in the windows.  She could hear the television choppily through the hum of the fan blades.  She heard the high-pitched moans and screams from his rented video, and felt vindicated.  People like him never change.

* * * * *

"Okay, what have you got so far?" Grissom asked the two distaff CSIs during assignments on Friday.  Frank Dellancourt had been murdered on Sunday, and they were no closer to his killer now than they were then.

"It's a good thing that Edmund Locard didn't see this body, or we wouldn't have the Locard Exchange Principle.  There is absolutely no trace evidence of any kind.  Hodges microscopically looked at every square centimeter of the clothes, including his underclothes.  Not so much as a speck of dust.  It's like the guy was dry-cleaned," Sara said, shaking her head in frustrated disbelief.

"We didn't get anywhere with the canvassing.  Dellancourt was a regular at many of the clubs and bars in the area, but no-one remembers seeing him with any specific person on Saturday night," Catherine reported.

"All the epithelials on the clothes and tape match the victim.  All the blood is the victim's.  No fingerprints on the tape," Sara rattled off.

"Did you check the sticky side?" Nick asked automatically, almost immediately regretting it.

"Well, duh, Nicky," Sara barked back.  "Yes, I used a carbon black wash, ninhydrin, gentian violet, and an iodine wash.  And then I fumed it.  If you can think of anything else, Einstein, enlighten me," she snapped.

Nick considered his options and decided that surrender held the best chance for his continued survival.  "Sounds like you did everything that could be done, as usual," he added, hoping he had backtracked sufficiently.

"Sorry, Nick," Sara apologized.  "It's just really frustrating to get absolutely zero physical evidence from such an otherwise messy crime," she said, a faint smile pulling at her lips.  He was her best friend and she had snapped at him in front of the entire team.

"Hey, if anyone can find it, you can," he said, smiling broadly.

Grissom watched the interaction between Nick and Sara, and Catherine watched Grissom.  He was completely mystified.  He knew they were friends;  he used to be jealous of their easy camaraderie, until Catherine pointed out one day that she and he were friends, too.

Tonight Nick and Sara had taken potshots at each other in public, which surprised Grissom.  But what intrigued him more was the way they so quickly rectified the breach with genuine apologies, also given in public.

Sara smiled a gap-toothed grin at Nick, letting him know that everything was still good between them.  Nick added a brief wink to his smile, acknowledging her message.

Catherine had hoped that the exchange between Nick and Sara would be illustrative to Grissom, but she could see by the clouded confusion in his eyes that the lesson was probably lost on him.  Even if she explained it to him, she doubted that he could relate it to himself.

Warrick came in late, cursing a flat tire on his car.  "What are we talking about?" he asked, taking his seat.

"Our very own Lorena Bobbitt," Catherine answered.

As expected, the men in the room save Grissom winced and inhaled sharply between clenched teeth.  Grissom reacted with a raised eyebrow and a sudden facial tic.  Catherine and Sara were getting accustomed to the ubiquitous male reaction, and were able to remain impassive.  They both noticed Grissom's muted reaction and were inwardly amused that even the normally asexual supervisor could not help but react to the thought of castration, though his response was less pronounced than the younger men's.

"You know, the castration is cold-blooded enough, without ... the rest," Warrick said, finding it impossible to utter the words for what the perpetrator had done with the severed genitalia.

"I think the perpetrator is making a stronger statement than is typical of castrations.  He or she, and I'm assuming it's a she," Catherine said, looking apologetically at Sara, "knows that males have an inherent castration anxiety.  The placement of the detached genitals is intended to add degradation on top of the fulfillment of the phobia."

"I agree," Sara nodded.  "This woman isn't just angry, she's disgusted, and she's transferring her feelings of degradation onto the victim.  If I had to guess, I'd bet she had been sexually abused at some point.  The victim had a prison record for child molestation," Sara added, looking over a Catherine to let her know she agreed that the perp was probably a female.

"Don't get ahead of yourselves," Grissom warned.  "Males are victims of sexual abuse as well."  Catherine surreptitiously shot a look at Nick out of the corner of her eye.  He was sitting stiffly, his jaw set firmly as though he were clenching his teeth.  Though he was abused by a female instead of a male, Catherine didn't doubt that the retribution against the predator in this case fed into his unconscious desires for his own justice.

"You're right, of course," Sara admitted.  "This could be a man who had been abused by a predator in the past.  It would actually clarify a few problem points, like how a female perp would be able to move the body."

"For now, just keep an open mind," Grissom advised.

* * * * *

Passing Sara in the hall, Grissom looked up from the file and called her name.  She turned around and waited for his question.

"Did you bring your lunch today?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

"I still have the sandwich you so graciously bought me.  You want to take a break and eat?" he asked, attempting to sound casual.

"Together?" she asked.

"Well, yeah," he shrugged.

"In the same room?" 

"Yeah," Grissom answered innocently.

Sara regarded him with a mixture of confusion and suspicion.  "Okay.  I'll meet you in the break room in a couple of minutes."

Grissom nodded and continued down the hall, leaving Sara to wonder just how many individual personalities lived in Grissom's expansive brain.  Multiple personality disorder was the only explanation she could fathom for how his treatment of her would turn around one-hundred-eighty degrees from one day to the next.  She hoped that Dr. Jekyll would stay through lunch; she had had enough of Mr. Hyde to last a while.

* * * * *

The first few minutes were awkward, as they unpacked their lunches in silence, neither sure what was 'safe' conversation to make.  Grissom decided to fall back onto a topic he was fairly confident with:  work.

"So how is it working with Catherine on this case?" Grissom asked, taking a bite of the cold sandwich.

"It's good," Sara nodded.  "She's got a different perspective – she's much more intuitive.  I'm more methodical.  Between the two of us, we usually have the bases covered."

"How are you getting along now?"

"You mean personality-wise?  Fine.  We've gotten past her disappointment in my inability to solve Eddie's murder," Sara answered.

"It's impossible to beat a 'he-did-it/she-did-it' defense when there's no physical evidence implicating one over the other," Grissom granted.

"I think Catherine accepted that after a while," Sara nodded, wishing they could move off the subject.  "You know, you should quit hording Catherine and let the rest of us team with her every few cases.  She's a good balance to our more scientific approaches."

"That's one the reasons I work with her as well," he laughed. 

"Well, you're just going to have to learn to share." 

"I don't like to share," he said simply, leaving it to Sara to discern whether he was serious or teasing.

Rather than stumble on a possible verbal landmine, Sara decided to sidestep it.  "You know, I've only worked alone with Catherine a few times, but when we work together we have a one-hundred-percent solve rate." 

"I hadn't really thought about it, but I guess you're right."

"I know I'm right.  I have a 91% solve rate with Nick, a 93% solve rate with Warrick, a 99% solve rate with you, and a 100% solve rate with Catherine," she ticked off.

"What case have we worked on together that we didn't solve?" he asked, unable to recall one.

"The Millander case.  You solved it with Catherine after he committed another murder.  But we didn't actually solve the case we were working on before that.  You still get the credit;  I don't," she explained to him.

"Your statistical methods are very exacting – much more than the departmental methods.  I think you still got credit for the solve, since you were part of the team that worked it, even if not at the point where it was finally resolved."

"They have their standards, I have mine," she answered simply.

Sara finished the last bites of her cucumber sandwich and bowl of mixed fruit.  While she would not necessarily have chosen this topic, she had to admit that they had managed to discuss it without it degenerating into an argument.  If this was to be a foundation for a better working relationship, Sara felt it was necessary to ensure that it was a success, so she was anxious to leave while the experience was still positive.

"Well, I've got paperwork to catch up on, so I better get to it," she said, giving Grissom a friendly but measured smile. 

When she left, Grissom let out a sigh of relief.  He had managed to make it through the entire meal without making Sara angry or hurt. 

* * * * *

It was rare that the receptionist paged Grissom to answer a call, so he typically stopped what he was doing to take them, knowing she would normally take a message unless it were urgent.

He picked up the phone and pressed line three to connect. 

"Dr. Grissom?  I'm calling in regards to the Dellancourt castration," said the female voice.  Grissom instantly scrambled for a pad and a pen.  The castration aspect of the murder had not been released to the press, so he knew that the caller likely had information that was genuine.

"And your name is?" he asked hopefully.

"Unimportant," she replied.

"An unusual name," he teased.

"Glad to see you have a sense of humor," she said lightly.  "I'm going to do you a favor, because that's just the kind of gal I am.  I'm going to give you an hour to talk to your team and formulate some questions.  You may want to arrange to have our follow-up conversation on speakerphone so that they can all hear.  Or you may want to tape it.  It's only fair to give you an opportunity to prepare," she said calmly.

"I take it that you have information that you feel could be helpful regarding the investigation," he said.

"Yes.  And I take it that, unless I've made an uncharacteristic mistake, you have precious little information regarding the investigation," she retorted.  "Just to jump-start you, I'll give you a little hint.  Check out similar incidents on VICAP, concentrating on Chicago and Boston.  Do you think you'll need more than an hour to get ready?" she asked.

"No, I think we can pull it together by then," he said more confidently than he felt at the moment.

"Okay, I'll call back at 5:00 a.m.  Should I call the same number?  Or should I use a direct line?" 

"The same number will work fine.  The receptionist will route it to us, wherever we happen to be."

"Very well.  Talk to you later," she said brightly, disconnecting.

Grissom dialed the receptionist's number.  "Rose, please put out a page to my entire staff, including techs, to meet me in the conference room immediately.  And, Rose, I am expecting another call from the same woman who just called.  She said she would call in an hour.  Whenever she does, transfer it to the conference room."

"Yes, sir, Dr. Grissom," disconnecting to begin her pages.

* * * * *

Grissom raised his hand to quell the cacophony in the conference room.  He wasn't one for having many staff meetings, and no one could remember the last time they were all together in one room.  Many of them expected bad news, such as layoffs or budget cutbacks. 

"We don't have much time," he said loudly.  In less than half an hour I am expecting a call from a woman who is either the perpetrator or knows the perpetrator of the castration murder last weekend."  The room swelled with murmuring, and Grissom held up another hand.

"She will call back at 5:00, and she suggested that we do some background research on VICAP, which I have here," he said, holding up two printouts.  "She will allow us to ask questions, though there is no guarantee she will answer them.  I asked her name and she declined to say."

"How did she sound?" Catherine asked.  "Coherent?  Psychotic?  Could you get any read on her at all?"

"The conversation wasn't very long, but she seemed coherent and lucid.  She has consented to having the next conversation on speakerphone and taping it.  We can present it to Dr. Kane for his analysis," Grissom answered.

"She must want to get caught," Warrick said.

"I don't think so," Grissom answered.  "At least not consciously.  She was very careful about the crime scene, leaving next to no evidence.  I think this is more of a case of the murderer wanting to be heard, understood or validated in some way."

"If that's the case," Catherine jumped in, "maybe we should ask about her motive.  She may be willing to give more details there."

"Good point," Grissom said.

"This is related to the motive, so it may be answered with that one, but I'd like to know if she had something specifically against Francis Dellancourt, or will there be more victims," Sara said.

"Okay," Grissom said, writing the question down.

"How many questions do we get?" Catherine asked.

"She didn't say.  She'll probably play it by ear.  We want to be careful to not spook her, though.  We may be able to keep the communications open if she feels like she's getting her needs met," Grissom answered. 

"What does VICAP have to say?" Sara asked.

"There were six murders with the same MO in Boston last year, one per month from July to December.  They suddenly ended, so they presumed that the perpetrator fled or was apprehended on an unrelated charge.  They recovered no physical evidence at any of the crime scenes.  They were in communication with the perpetrator, for a few months, but she apparently became frustrated with them and stopped contacting them."

"Frustrated in what sense?" Catherine asked.

"Apparently, she felt they weren't 'worthy opponents,' to use her words," Grissom answered.

"Oh, a Dr. Moriarity complex," Sara noted.  "She's looking for her Holmes."

"The year before that, in Chicago, there was a murder every two months fitting the MO.  There was less communication, and it didn't start until the sixth murder.  She apparently became disenchanted with them as well."

"So all we have to do is fail, and she will move on," Greg cracked.

"Yes, Greg, after killing a minimum of six people," Sara answered tersely.

"Her schedule shortened between Chicago and Boston, so we can't be sure what it is here.  That's a question we should ask," Grissom said, jotting it down.

"What were the victim profiles in the other cities?" Catherine asked.

"All pedophiles.  Some were fathers or stepfathers who sexually abused their children.  Others were predatory pedophiles.  It didn't seem to matter if the pedophiles' victims were male or female."

"Where all the woman's victims treated the same way ours was?" Warrick asked, his face pinched in sympathetic pain.

"Yes.  All murdered and castrated," Grissom acknowledged. "She is completely flexible in her MO.  Some were drugged, others apparently attacked in their sleep, others that we presume were abducted by force."

"I want you all in here when I talk to her, but it's imperative that you let me do the talking.  I don't want a barrage of ten people barking out questions.  Pay close attention to everything she says.  Each of you may pick up something different.  We will discuss the call later.  Take a few minutes and wrap up whatever you were doing, get a drink, go to the bathroom or do whatever you need to do in order to be able to focus.  Be back here at 4:55," he said, dismissing them.

TBC