A/N: So, I see I still have at least a couple of readers. ;) Thank you for the lovely reviews, everyone, they tell me that I must be doing something right.
CHAPTER SIX
"...was arrested for the murder of a prostitute Samantha Glytes. The body of Ms Glytes was found last week from an alley just two blocks from the popular nightclub, Multitude. The investigation was aborted four days later as no further evidence could be found. Two days ago, however, an as yet unnamed witness led the police to Michael McKinley. The events took a new turn this morning as McKinley's DNA test turned out positive to the samples found from the crime scene. According to the DA's office the evidence has been considered to be adequate and charges have been pressed against McKinley for murder of third degree..."
Nick clicked the television shut and turned around with a victorious grin plastered on his face. He cast his eyes across the small hospital room and on its sole occupant, who answered his smile with a confused one of his own.
The pink tip of the patient's tongue darted out to lick on his dry lips. "If you only forced me awake to show me that people still get murdered and murderers caught, then I'm afraid I must give into the drugs and return to sleep," Greg croaked barely audibly with his voice rough and weak from sleep and lack of use.
Nick's smile faded and his expression turned into a worried and somewhat embarrassed frown. "Don't you remember what we talked about yesterday?"
Greg's tired snort hardly carried to Nick's ears. "Don't count on me even remembering what we talked about today. I feel like the general guinea pig of the pharmaceutical industry with all the painkillers and sedatives and God-knows-what they keep shooting up my veins." He licked his lips again and looked at Nick through half-open eyelids. "To tell the truth, everything's a bit hazy after opening the door to the evidence room."
Nick's shoulders slumped, not with disappointment but because he felt ashamed. "Oh... I'm sorry, I... I didn't think," he mumbled as he walked over to Greg, staring at the floor as he did so. He pulled the chair that he'd been using closer to the hospital bed and sat down with a sigh. He then smiled apologetically to the younger man.
Greg closed his eyes but smiled a tired, one-sided smile, too. "It's okay."
Nick studied the man's face carefully. He looked worn out and pale, but that was understandable, after all he'd been through. He'd had his second surgery the day before and had only woken up from the anesthesia a few hours ago. But Nick was glad he was awake, even if it was only for short, drowsy periods such as this. He couldn't have stood another night of sitting by his bed, wondering whether he was in coma, unconscious or just sleeping. At least now he knew for certain, and that comforted him.
He was also glad that Greg wasn't awake most of the time. See, he had been moved into a private room that morning and Nick knew that he'd make a scene about it when he'd realize it; even though Greg made more money than the CSI, he still couldn't have afforded it. Nick didn't want to stress Greg, over money of all things, so he hadn't mentioned the room to him. Besides, the payment had already been covered by Greg's work insurance. Nick only hoped he'd have enough time to explain it to Greg before he had a fit over it.
Greg's mumbling voice awoke Nick from his thoughts. "Aren't you gonna tell me what that TV-thingy was all about?" he muttered and forced his eyes open a crack.
Nick immediately perked up. "The news report? That was the case whose evidence Sam Kemper was robbing when you walked in on him. The guy confessed and gave McKinley in. Warrick found blood patterns that matched the vic from McKinley's living room," he explained enthusiastically with a smile. "So, I guess Warrick solved your case."
Greg arched an eyebrow. "My case?"
"Well..." Nick gave a short laugh and shrugged. "Not your case as such, but you were still a part of it. Whatever happened to Samantha Glytes eventually led up to your..." Nick's voice trailed off as he couldn't find the words he was looking for. He looked down at his hands and shut his mouth.
"To me getting shot?" Greg intrigued as he noticed the other man's loss of words. When Nick nodded Greg gave him a reassuring smile. "Remind me to thank Warrick, then."
"Don't mention it."
The low voice from the doorway made both men turn their heads to that direction. A black man stood there with a smile on his face and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Behind him there were two other persons, a blond woman and an older man. "Glad to see you're awake. The last time I was here you were out like a lamp," the black man stated and walked into the room, the other two right on his heels. "I hope this means that you'll be back to work soon." His tone was serious but there was a glint of teasing in his eyes.
The blond woman gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. "Warrick, you're awful!" Then she walked to the hospital bed and gave Greg a quick peck on the cheek, ignoring the CSI who was replacing the old flowers in the vase that stood on the nightstand with the new ones he'd brought. "Pay no attention to him, Greg, he's just joking," she said with a sweet smile.
Greg answered it with a throaty and short but genuine laughter. "I didn't now you were all coming, Cath," he said, glancing at the three.
"We thought we'd surprise you," Grissom replied from where he'd parked at the end of the bed. "How are you feeling?"
Everyone could see that Greg had trouble keeping his eyes open or focusing on the conversation, but he still managed a friendly smile. "Tired. Been better, I guess. But I'll be okay."
Grissom nodded with a tiny smile of his own. "I'm glad to hear that. You gave us quite a start," he told him. Then he glanced down and held out his hand. There was a package in it, wrapped with red ribbons and glittering paper. "Here. We thought this might cheer you up, or at least keep you from getting bored when you're a bit more alert." The package was taken from hand to hand until it reached Greg's. With a frown the young lab technician fumbled the wrappings off and pulled out the content. His eyes widened as he examined it.
He looked up at Grissom. "Where did you get this from?" he intrigued, suddenly a bit more awake than just seconds before. "I didn't think this was even published in the States yet."
"It's not," Grissom agreed, smiling at Greg's amazement, "I know someone who has a lot of business in the Far East and asked him if he could get it for me, and as it happens... he already had some copies, for preview." He watched as Greg turned the disk in his hands. He'd heard Greg raving on about the new game with Nick once, and was pleased to see that he'd made the right choice when he'd bought it for him.
A glint of appreciation twinkled in Greg's brown eyes as he looked up at his boss. "Wow. This is really... Thanks," he finally let out. Another weary smile invaded his face.
"I thought we could get the game console and some of your things, clothes and such, from your apartment if you tell us what you want us to bring you," Grissom continued.
Greg nodded his acceptance, giving one last thankful smile to the gray-haired man. Swiftly Catherine sat down on the bed and started searching through her purse. Once she managed to dig out a pen and a piece of paper, she glanced up at Greg and said, "Let's hear it." The sound of fast scribbling and a quiet voice dictating a list soon filled the room.
Nick leant back in his chair and watched the exchange for a while. Then he glanced at his clock, frowning. As nonchalantly as he could he got up, trying to look as if he was merely stretching his muscles, and walked around the room a bit. Once he got to Grissom, he led him a little further away from the bed. He bent closer, lowering his voice so that the others wouldn't hear. "Where's Sara?" he whispered, glancing over at the bed, making sure he hadn't triggered the other's interest, then fixed his eyes on his boss's.
Grissom glanced at him, furrowing his brow. He spoke just as quietly as the other man: "Don't worry. She promised to come." Yet Nick could see a glimpse of something else than just reassurance in his eyes. Something almost... uncertain.
Nick pursed his lips together into a thin line and nodded. "Well, she'd better hurry up." He tried to speak evenly, but it came out an angry hiss. He composed his tone and added more calmly, "The visiting hours are almost over." Then he turned to look towards the hospital bed. He smiled at Greg when he caught his eye, but inside he was boiling.
***
The apartment smelled of microwave-dinner and instant coffee. The television was on, the volume turned down low. "... is a long way to travel but the sun is blazing hot and the gnus must drink..." Sara kept her eyes on the pictures that flashed on the screen and shoveled the food into her mouth. She swallowed the bite dry. It didn't taste particularly good. She made a mental note not to ever buy that brand again.
She had her feet perched up on the coffee table, her shoes off, her dinner balanced on her thighs. Her other hand held the coffee mug. The liquid warmed her fingers through the porcelain. "... the danger that awaits them under the surface, but they still venture to the drinking place. The dry season..."
She kept her eyes on the pictures that flashed on the screen and told herself that she didn't know what time it was.
***
Jim Brass took one look at the face of the young lawyer who stood up as he entered the interrogation room, and sighed, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. He waved the man to sit down and closed the door. "Mr. Kemper, Mr. Stanrov, it's good to see you again," he said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice. "Do tell me, what do I own the pleasure to be summoned like this for?" He walked to the table and sat down, glancing between the lawyer and his client. Sam Kemper stared down at his hands, his shoulders slumped as if he was subdued, so Brass focused his attention to the other half of the cheerful party of two.
Will Stanrov cleared his throat and fixed his tie. Brass followed the movement with his eyes and waited patiently for the man to begin. "Captain Brass, I hope you understand the delicate nature of this case," Stanrov articulated carefully at last.
Brass gave a humorless smile. "Oh, believe me, I do." Indeed he did. He wasn't really pleased to be sitting there, mostly because he had a feeling the conversation would end up in more deals and adjustments that he wasn't really happy about. He bit down the bitter comment about cop-killers, knowing perfectly well that that wasn't even the case here, and drummed his guilt into the armrest of his chair with his fingertips.
"Then you must also know how cautious my client must be with his appearances in the media," Stanrov continued with an lifted eyebrow.
Brass sighed. He could swear that in spite of the cheap suit the man wore, Stanrov was getting more elitist by the second. He waved his hand in the air in front of him in a circular motion, a wordless indication for him to hurry up. "Yeah, yeah, enough with the fancy talk. Just what exactly are you asking for? In English, if you don't mind."
Stanrov shifted a bit uncomfortably on his seat, sitting up straight, and glanced at Sam Kemper. He was obviously taken aback by Brass's harsh tone for a second or two but he quickly composed himself. "My client is worried that if McKinley finds out that he is the main witness something might happen to him or his family," he finally explained. "Therefore he would like to remain anonymous, in the press and in court."
It was Brass's time to raise his eyebrows. He glanced at Sam Kemper. "He won't take a stand?" He couldn't hide the surprise in his voice.
"Captain Brass," the lawyer said patiently, leaning forward again and placing his hands on the table. As if making it a scene, he entwined his fingers. He was speaking to him as if he was five, and Brass narrowed his eyes. "Even though Michael McKinley has put up a sweet front in public, we both know that he isn't exactly pure as the driven snow. Mr. Kemper is afraid of him, for his family. I'm sure that's not too hard to understand."
Brass drummed his fingers lightly against the armrest and eyed both of the men in a measuring manner for a minute. Sam still wouldn't look at him, instead he kept his head bowed and let Stanrov handle the talking. Brass pursed his lips together. Once he'd thought that he'd known this man, at least on some levels. Once he'd thought that Sam Kemper was a good man, a good father and a husband. He was still disappointed with him, but was also somewhat glad to find out that maybe he hadn't been entirely wrong about him. Brass rubbed his forehead with his fingers. This case was giving him a headache. "Yes, I do understand that," he grunted with frustration after a long pause, "but I also understand that in court a taped testimony wouldn't be as strong as taking a stand. It wouldn't affect the jury as much." Yet he let his eyes linger on the man who sat quietly next to his attorney. Then he sighed. "Fine. I'll talk to the DA," he muttered reluctantly. "You two wait here. If we're going to do it this way, we'll do it now. I'm not having any more of my time wasted with the pair of you." He pushed his chair back and started to get up when Sam Kemper jerked his head up.
"Are they..." he started, his voice failing him for a second as he spoke for the first time during the meeting. He lifted his eyes to meet Brass's. "My family. Are they safe?" Brass nodded without a word. "Could you tell them..." Sam lowered his eyes back to the table. "...that I'm sorry?"
Brass stared at him for a second. For the briefest time the thought that maybe he hadn't been that wrong about the clerk after all crossed his mind. Somewhere in the back of his mind the thought kept struggling with the picture of a bloody man being carted into an ambulance and the guilt that came along with it. Still, he nodded again before walking out of the room. The two men were left sitting at the table, waiting for him to return.
***
"Hey, Joe, you want some coffee? I was gonna make a cup," Liam Kerrigan called out over his shoulder to his colleague. The uniformed policeman looked up from the newspaper he was reading. He was sitting in an old office chair on the other side of the small room with his feet propped up on a heavy wooden desk. He glanced at the clock. Past midnight. With a sigh Joe folded the paper and swung his feet off the desk.
"Yeah, why not," he answered, stretching his neck and yawning widely. "It seems it's going to be a long night anyway." He got up from the chair and tried to make his stiffened joints work again. He gave a tiny smirk to Liam and winked. "Since the boss is so keen on keeping us on watch duty, he at least ought to allow us a coffee break now and then, eh?"
Liam smiled, too. "That's what you said the last time, um... two hours ago?" He turned to the coffee maker that sat on a miserable little table in the corner of the room and started measuring the grounds into it.
"Two hours?" Joe asked with amazement. He scoffed. "Well, it seemed like a lot longer."
Liam clicked the coffee maker on and turned to the other policeman. "Well it would in this place," he shrugged and crossed his arms on his chest, leaning against the table. He nodded towards the half-closed door that stood in one corner of the room. "It's not very exciting watching sleeping prisoners all night. I mean, that guy is as quiet as a mouse. I haven't heard a peep all night."
Joe glanced past the door at the dark corridor leading towards the holding cells. "Yeah, I know what you mean. But I can't believe we were signed up for watch-duty again. I'm telling ya, the guy's got it in for us."
Liam let out a laugh. "Maybe for you, man, but boss's got nothing against me."
But Joe wasn't listening to him anymore. Instead he was focused on the dark corridor and frowned. "You're right, Liam," he stated thoughtfully, "he's been awfully quiet tonight." He darted his eyes on the other man who just shrugged, then back at the door. Not a shadow moved in the space that unfolded beyond the doorway. Joe grabbed his keys and his flashlight from the desk. "Maybe I ought to check it out."
Liam just shrugged once again. "Suit yourself."
Joe pushed the door completely open and entered the short corridor. The bars of the cell were seen at the end of it but he couldn't see what was behind them. He listened. Nothing. Not snoring, nothing was moving. His frown deepened. "Kemper?" He walked further, flipping his flashlight on and pointing the stream of light towards the holding cell. No one answered him. He called out the name for the second time before finally reaching his destination.
He didn't need a flashlight to see what awaited in the cell. The light from the street lamps outside shone through the small window in the back wall and landed on the face of the prisoner, on his body, lingering there as if showing the gruesome sight in all its glory.
Kemper's mouth was still open.
Joe's eyes widened. The flashlight dropped on the floor as he stared at the body that hung a few inches off the ground. "Oh holy shit..."
TBC...