All in a Day
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.
A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are to wonderful beta readers. Also thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed this story. It means a lot to me.
I left Catherine's room and headed back downstairs to the lobby. The reports from Jacqui had arrived by then. I picked them up, starting to read before I sat down.
My mind was racing. I had all the puzzle pieces, now I just had to put them together. I couldn't think here, my head was starting to hurt and I was exhausted. I got myself a coffee in the hopes that it would wake me up a bit.
I took out the reconstructed picture of the layout plan. There was no indication which building they were showing. It looked too large to be a private building and too small for a large office, maybe a small office building. But there were hundreds of possibilities. The plan alone wasn't helping me any.
I mentally laid out the pieces: TNT, layout plan, a fire cleansing the sinners. Were they going to blow up a casino, a hotel, a brothel? But an explosion didn't really cause a significant fire, at least not under normal circumstances. For that they would have to blow up something else, a gas station, or a chemical factory. Maybe I was thinking too literally. But a chemical factory didn't fit to well with the sinner part. Hell, there was just so much we didn't know.
Marks was the key, he was the architect of this diabolic plan. He was the reason why they were doing this, so he would hold the key to motive. The motive depended on whether he really believed the religious role he was playing or whether he just liked basking in the admiration and money of his followers. Hopefully his computer would give me an answer to that question. But at the moment neither Marks nor his computer were accessible. Suddenly something struck me -the numbers. I had just assumed that everyone was involved in the hostage situation. But if I thought about it, that was not very likely.
Jacqui had said that there were probably ten cultists in total. That would be: Daryl Marks, Tina Rivers, the girl, the woman who had taken out the camera, the dead body at the compound and the three men. It didn't add up. There were two people missing. Two people and the explosives, it just occurred to me. At least one person had been there with Marks when Nick and Catherine had been shot. I tried to get it all sorted out, but every time I constructed a theory, I immediately noticed a point where it did not work out. Out of sheer desperation, I called the police station and asked them to run a background on the three names that Jacqui had given me. Daryl Marks had already been run through the system by Brass, so I had no hopes of finding more regarding him. Leaving the people in question for now, I turned my attention to the autopsy report. The burnt body was a male in his early forties. He had been dead before being burnt. He had bleed to death, from several stab wounds to the lower torso. A test for TNT residues on his hands had been inconclusive, a result of the burning. So he had been one of the killers in the Delaney's apartment.
I called the images from the hospital surveillance footage back to mind. The woman on the video had been older than thirty-one. She'd been in her late forties at the youngest. Now, I had at least a name. Finally some head way. If I did a half-smile, it would be my first and last during this case. I checked my pager nervously, nothing yet from the PD on my background check, nothing from the lab. Maybe Nick would be able to tell me more. There was a chance that he might also have seen something before having been shot. I felt bad at the idea of badgering him, but it didn't come to it. I used the stairs, which were being guarded as well since the elevators had been taken off-line by the police and made my way up to the fifth floor. It was quiet. The only thing I heard was the distinct beeping and humming of medical devices and the sound of steps on linoleum. I headed for the duty nurse's desk.
"Hello, I'm Warrick Brown with CSI." I showed her my ID. "Would it be possible for me to see Mr. Nick Stokes?
"I don't think that Mr. Stokes is up for visitors. Do you want to speak to his doctor?"
"Yes, please," I said and waited. Standing there and waiting it occurred to me that I had not really ever thought of Catherine and Nick being shot. Hell, I didn't even know how Nick was. I had been reacting ever since this case had started. Nick is a friend, and I was supposed to care. The thought made me feel guilty. Even though this time it was in no way my fault, my mind flashed back to Holly Gribbs and the stalker case.
A doctor came in my direction.
"Mr. Brown, I'm Doctor Nguyen, I'm treating Mr. Stokes."
"How is he?"
"Sedated at the moment, he was shot in the thigh. Since an artery was hit, well, he suffered serious blood loss. Hypovolaemic shock had set in by the time the paramedics got to him.
"What's the prognosis?" I didn't really want to know, but also needed to know. I didn't think I could process another disaster that day.
"He's responding well to the standard treatment using plasma replacement and isn't in immediate danger. But your questions will have to wait at least until tomorrow morning."
"Thank you." Only a little bit reassured, I thanked him and left, still worried.
I went back downstairs to see how the situation was progressing. It wasn't.
In the briefing room, nothing had changed since I had left. Agents were busy talking, reading from files and filled flip charts with cryptic terms. Brass was leaning in a corner, looking extremely tense. It's very unusual for him to display what he's feeling. Normally it's all covered by cynicism. We all have our protection mechanism in place. I'm no exception. Looking back at the situation, I think that I was just continuing working, both to convince myself that I was doing something and to keep myself from worrying about Grissom, Sara and Nick, or think about Greg. At that time, I didn't worry or think I was running on adrenaline.
"Brass," I whispered, and waved for him to come outside.
"I got a name from the prints at the farm. PD ran a check and I got a current address of a Charlotte May. It's a long shot, but I think we should have a look at the place and chat with Ms. May if she's home.
"Good, but there's nothing new here. They have been talking for like three hours now. But I can tell you, it's not going anywhere." Brass's tone showed more worry about Grissom and Sara than he let on. Even though I was pretty wound up myself, I figured that he might prefer to stick around. Of course, if I asked him to go to there with me he would do it. Before I could figure out a way to tell him that I was okay with it and without creating an embarrassing scene for the two of us, he said, "I'm going to request for an officer to be there. Who knows what you're going to run into."
"Okay, I'm just going to get some stills from the footage."
We went back inside and I asked the agent who had operated the video system before to make me printouts of the cultists. Armed with pictures I made my way to the car, not sure what I had to expect. After all, I told myself, it could be that I was just chasing ghosts, but as it turned out I wasn't. I was on the right track, just a little to late.
After a twenty minute drive, I didn't have the nerve to hunt for a parking space. I parked right in front of the building. It looked dingy. In front of the entrance I saw a uniformed LVPD officer. He looked barely over twenty. He must be the backup Brass had ordered.
I grabbed my field kit, got out of the car and approached him purposefully, making sure he could see my badge. The last thing I needed was a nervous young cop overreacting.
"Mr. Brown?"
"Yes that's me."
"I'm Officer Gerwin."
"Have you checked whether anyone is home?"
"No," he blushed, clearly insecure and fairly new at the job. "Detective Brass ordered me to wait for you. But I got the key from the landlord. He says that she never posed a problem, was quiet and paid the rent on time."
"Okay, let's go in then."
The apartment building strongly reminded me of the one where the Delaney's had lived and been murdered less than twenty-four hours ago. It seemed weeks ago to me.
I keep behind Officer Gerwin, even though he seemed to have even less experience than I had. I was just hoping that we would not run into any trouble. The apartment was on the second floor, 208.
Officer Gerwin knocked on the door. " Las Vegas police, we have a search warrant." No answer, no noise from the inside, indicating that someone was preparing for us. Gerwin repeated.
"It looks like nobody is home." he took out the key and unlocked the door. I would have to lie if I said that I wasn't tense. Officer Gerwin's trembling hands when he tried to place the key in the keyhole didn't add to my confidence. His gun raised, he entered the apartment, and I followed in his tracks. The apartment was as sparse as the farm. The only things present in abundance were books. Gerwin proceeded securing the adjacent rooms, while I stayed in what looked like a living room. Gerwin came back, visibly relieved. "Nobody home."
"Good, I'm going to examine the place." I was about to get to work, when I noticed Gerwin standing around looking lost. Great, just what I need, working with a clueless cop.
"Mhm, could you maybe go ask the neighbors about Charlotte May's comings and goings. Also, please check on her vehicle." I felt odd giving the orders, out of place somehow. I was used to working with more experienced investigators.
The living room was furnished with several shelves, a patio type desk and a chair. On the desk were a laptop computer and a printer.
Just like Marks, it occurred to me. The others had lived without any modern technology, even without electricity at the barn. Marks had been the only one to use technology. This woman had been at the barn regularly, judging by the presence of her prints, yet she had her own place and also used a computer. I took a look at the books. There must have been hundreds of them, remarkably no novels, but non-fiction on all subjects. She was into virtually everything -mostly religions, paranormal and spiritual, and medical, also some general science books.
A phone, I looked around, searching for one. Nothing.
I went on to have a look at the next room, a bathroom, a kitchen, all very organized, nothing remarkable. In the bedroom I found what I didn't expect. It was the only room that had any personal touch. There was a single bed, made and a child's crib, empty. On the nightstand, two framed pictures sat. One, showed her along with Daryl Marks in some sunny location. The other picture showed a baby. Her child? Her file had said nothing of her having a child. But if she had given birth at the compound or at her home, then her child would not be registered. There was also an opened book with the pages turned down. Carefully I lifted it up. It was a medical textbook looking fairly new. It was opened at a page discussing hydranencephaly.
A bit confused about what to make of it, I went back into the living room. It is against the procedure. Normally a computer found at the scene, had to be brought back to the lab to be examined there. I hesitated. Was there really sufficient evidence to break protocol? I opened the desk drawer. It was in a contrast to the perfectly clean apartment. It contained assorted wires, several alarm clocks, partially disassembled, screwdrivers, and pins along with several sheets of printed paper. I took a look at them. While before I had not been sure what position the woman occupied in this case. I now knew that she was right at the center of it all. She had obviously been busy surfing the net. Printed on the pages were several texts taken from the Internet, they all dealt with handling and use of explosives -and not the kind of use in the building industry. On these pages were detailed manuals on how to build bombs. She hadn't been just any member of the Heavenly Path group, she had been right there with Daryl Marks. It then occurred to me that I still had the portable UV detector in the car from earlier. I got it and started working, examining the apartment. The desk came back positive for TNT residue.
Now, I was certain that the situation warranted the immediate examination of the computer. Hoping that it had not been sabotaged as Marks's had been, I powered up the computer. It beeped and starting booting the operating system. While Windows was loading, I pulled out my cell again, and called Ecklie, asking him to send someone from his team to help me with the scene.
Ecklie had heard about what had gone down at the hospital. To his credit he spared me any comments, merely said he would send someone right away.
Windows finally had loaded. I'm not a computer crack. But I know enough to find my way around a computer. I tried the email program, no luck, password required. That was something for the police computer specialist. I opened the web browser and took a look at the history. It confirmed the story told by the print-outs. Apart from that, medicine, esoteric, religion, similar to her taste in books.
I opened her files folder, finding several text documents. I opened one chosen at random. It was long. I scrolled through it. Reading it would take ages. I didn't have time. We needed a lot of people on this right now. I made another call, requesting more officers. That done, I went back to scanning through the text. Sin, punishment, and fire were recurring themes. Marks and his followers were obsessed with that. The file was dated from three months ago. I pulled up the most recent. While the previous document had been written in fairly coherent English, this was barely intelligible. I'm no writer, all the writing I do is for reports at work, but to me it read like she had lost it completely. It reminded me of Nigel Crane's tapes, just that it was in written form this time.
The themes in this piece were the same, but also a few new concepts were there, "Child", "sign", "prophecy" and "new world order". My head was spinning. In spite of all the new information, I felt like we were still walking in one place, not getting anywhere. I forced myself to focus on the text. There was after all a chance that this text was going to hold the clue to their plans. We needed a time and a date for the planned bombing. Since there was no direct clue, the motive was all we were(remove) had to go on. Even if they were dominated by their twisted belief, there had to be something behind it. I just had to find it. For years the cult had been quiet, something must have prompted her to turn to violence - the child, her child? I checked more texts; it was first mentioned three months ago. About that time, there had been first complaints about noise from the cult's compound.
What had this woman been doing, building bombs for Daryl Marks and writing down her ramblings while watching her child? This case was a lesson in human trash. It sounds harsh, but that's how I see it. I usually try to have some understanding, but here I just can't.
While less than an hour earlier the silence of my pager had annoyed me, it was now going off twice in a row. First it was Brass, then the lab. No question who I'd call first. I was just hoping that Brass was calling with good news.