'What can you tell me?'  Catherine marched into the morgue, she was in a hurry.  Greg would have finished his analysis by now and she was eager to get the results.

            'Oh, hey Catherine.'  The coroner greeted her and hobbled over to the nearest autopsy table.  He pulled down the white sheet to reveal the dead woman's face.  'Single stab wound to the chest, sliced the heart right in two.  The killer knew what he was doing.  The victim would have bled out, no defensive wounds on the forearms.'

            'She knew her killer.'  Catherine studied the dead body.

            'Most likely.'

            'And it was personal; she was stabbed in the heart.'

            The coroner nodded.  'No other wounds, she was in perfect health . . .'  His voice trailed off and Catherine knew what was coming.  'I hear Grissom had contact with the victim shortly before her death.'

            'He did.  Do you have a more precise time of death?'  She didn't want to discuss Grissom's situation at the moment.

            'I can't give you an exact time because she would have bled out for a while before finally dying; the death wasn't instantaneous.  But it could have been any time between five-twenty and ten-to-six.'

            Catherine was about to say something when her eyes were drawn to a pale stripe of skin on the woman's wrist.  'She wore a watch?'  She asked, pointing it out.

            'Yes, it appears she did.  There wasn't a watch on the body when it came in; infact there was nothing of any value on her.  She may have been mugged, either before or after.'

            Catherine nodded.  'Thanks, keep me posted.'

            'Can do, Catherine.'  As Catherine exited, the coroner was left slightly perturbed.  There had been something different, something more wooden about Catherine's behaviour.

            Catherine almost ran down the corridors leading to the crime lab.  The autopsy had neither proved nor disproved Grissom's innocence, it was up to the material evidence now.

            Shoving the door open, her heart began to beat faster.  A spiky-haired lab technician looked in her direction and his eyes told her something was wrong.

            When she reached him, Greg stepped back and indicated to the microscope he had been bent over.  Taking his place, Catherine brushed her hair off her face and placed an eye to the lens.  After fiddling with the dial a single strand of a blue fibre came into focus.  She straightened up and looked inquiringly at Greg.

            'That,'  Greg announced pointing at the microscope,  'is 100% pure cotton.'

            'So?'  Catherine held out her arms and shrugged.

            'So'  Greg mirrored her movements  'Who do we know who wears pure cotton?'

            Catherine remained silent unwilling to admit the fact.  Reaching behind him, Greg grabbed a printout and passed it to Catherine.

            'I compared the fibre with a sample taken from the shirt Grissom was wearing, and . . .'

            'A perfect match.'  Catherine finished.  She stared at the printout for a while longer, as though expecting it to solve the case for her, then looked up at Greg.  'And the hairs?'

            Greg reached for another printout and handed it to her.  'Grissom's also.'

            'This can't be right.'

            'Well you know what Grissom always says; the evidence-'

            'Doesn't lie, I know.  But . . . '  Catherine let her voice trail off as she continued to stare at the printouts in her hands.  It just didn't add up.

            Catherine collapsed into a chair and let out a tormented sigh.  It had been a long night but she couldn't bring herself to go home.  She had no fear for Lindsey, she was staying with a friend from school, but she feared for Grissom.

            Proving her supervisor's innocence was not going well; so far all the evidence convicted him.  His DNA was on the victim as well as fibres from his shirt.  He'd had the opportunity, he knew the victim personally and now he even had the method.  A bloodstained knife had turned up during a routine search of his townhouse, the blood matched the victim's but there wasn't a single fingerprint on it.  All that was missing was the motive.

            But two facts bothered her:  the victim's lack of valuables and identification; and the location in which the knife had been found.  Why would a seasoned CSI keep the murder weapon and not even bother to clean it?  Further more, why would he wrap it in brown paper and hide it amongst that morning's unopened post?

            She sighed again, but this time it was more desperate.  Grissom wasn't a murderer but how could she prove it?  There had to be something she'd missed.

            Catherine's train of thought was broken when she heard the soft click of the door closing behind her.  Swivelling in her chair, Catherine smiled as she saw Sara.  But the other woman did not return the gesture.

            'I want this case, Catherine.'  She said sternly.

            'What?'  Sara's brashness had taken her by surprise.  'You can't.'

            'I have to have it.'  There was no plea in her voice and her tone was definite.

            'Why?  I started this case and I'm going to finish it'

            'You don't understand, I have to help Grissom –'

            'That's what I'm doing.'  Catherine cut in.  What did Sara expect?  That she would be glad to hand over the burden?  She wasn't about to let the case go, not without a fight.  Her muscles tensed, she didn't like Sara's tone.  It was too cool, too calm.

            'You're not fit to help him.'  Sara didn't shout but the anger and resentment was clear.

            'What?!'  Catherine jumped to her feet, partly out of anger but also because she was shocked.  She thought she knew Sara and this wasn't like her.

            Something flashed in Sara's eyes but she remained calm and collected.  'You're not fit to work this case!  What had he done to you?  Why did you have to hurt him?'

            'Hey!  What happened to innocent until proven guilty?'

            But Sara wasn't listening; she was starting to heat up.  'You hit him!  And now you're trying to help him!'

            'He's my friend –' Catherine tried to reason but was cut off.

            Sara's eyes blazed.  'Friend!  I'd hate to see what you do to your enemies!'  She began to advance on Catherine, arms raised.  'You just couldn't leave well alone could you?'

            Shock gripped Catherine, she'd never seen Sara act like this before.  Why was she so defensive of Grissom?