SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1 Author's Notes: Argh...finally, I have Microsoft Word back on my computer...I'm sure you all are about as fed up with me not updating as I was with the stupid computer people...sorry this is so late in coming...I didn't have internet access, and I'm nursing a fractured floating rib (useless thing) from a misadventure in skateboarding back home in Jersey...Apparently, "Stoned Adrian" is really funny, so my friends say...something about thinking the tampon dispenser in the bathroom held Skittles...and my dad got mistaken for that guy who plays Ed on Ed...apparently this happens a lot; they look similar, but I don't think I'd confuse the two...by the way, Ed sometimes films in Westfield, NJ (my hometown) and it can get real annoying having to detour around things...anyways, I guess I'm through bitching...let's jive
KAPITEL FÜNF
Grissom and Catherine stood aside while Captain Jim Brass knocked assertively
on the navy blue front door of the Abraham residence. The house was a dull white that
had once been clean and vibrant; it didn't look ugly and rundown, but it could've used a
coat or two of fresh paint. The trim was navy blue to match the front door, two story; all
in all, a good representation of middle class living in Las Vegas suburbia. Brass was
there to ask Mr. Abraham a few questions, and Grissom and Catherine wanted to check
the luggage he'd taken to Chicago. They didn't want to believe he had anything to do
with this, but parents sometimes did play a part in the kidnapping of their own children.
Hell, parents sometimes even played a part in their own kid's murder. Catherine had
encountered it before; she'd tackled a case that involved a mother drowning her six-year-
old daughter in the Tunnel of Love at a traveling carnival. Grissom had gotten Brass
involved because he wanted to approach this case as a possible homicide; the CSIs were
preparing themselves for the discovery of a body.
A man in his early forties answered the door. His light brown hair was being
invaded by gray; Grissom wondered how much of that gray could be attributed to the
past few days.
"Yes?" he asked. He looked like he hadn't slept in a while; his face looked tired,
dark circles hid beneath his eyes.
"Mr. Abraham?" Brass asked.
"Yes."
"I'm Detective Jim Brass; this is Gil Grissom and Catherine Willows from the
crime lab. We're working your daughter's case."
"Oh, please come in; please tell me you have some good news," he said opening
the door so they could enter. He led them into the living room. "Feel free to sit down."
Brass took a seat on the couch; Mr. Abraham sat on the opposite side, leaving a
cushion between them. Grissom and Catherine stayed standing, their toolbox-looking
forensics kits resting at their sides.
"You're more than welcome to sit down too," he told them.
"Actually, we were wondering if we could take a look around while Detective
Brass asked you a few questions," Grissom said.
"Sure, just forgive me for the mess in the master bedroom; I've just gotten home
and unpacking hasn't exactly been at the forefront of my mind."
Grissom and Catherine made their way up the stairs and down the hall. At the
end of the hall was what Grissom assumed to be Blair's bedroom because she'd said
she'd open her door to go to the bathroom the night she'd seen the intruder; on the right
side was, first, a bathroom, and then the door leading to Blake's room. To the left was,
they discovered after Catherine took a peek inside the night of the crime, a closet where
they kept towels, washcloths, soap, and other various toiletries; next to it was the door to
Mr. Abraham's bedroom. They stepped inside.
Pictures were prominent throughout the room; either this man was big on
preserving memories or his wife had been before she passed away. Catherine walked
around the room looking at them. There were pictures of Christmases and birthdays
when the girls were little and pictures of Mr. Abraham and his wife, who with her long,
curly red hair and wide smile could've been a dead ringer for Debra Messing, albeit a
little heavier, but pretty nonetheless. A picture of the family at Lake Mead appeared to
be one of the lasts ones taken when Mrs. Abraham was alive because the girls looked
considerably older than the Christmas photos, and Grissom had mentioned she'd passed
away when Blake was twelve and Blair was just nine. They appeared to be the picture
perfect family only, now, an integral part of that family, the mother, was gone.
"What're you hoping to find in here?" Catherine asked.
"I don't know; something to link him to the crime or something to clear him of
it."
They both noticed his luggage sitting on the floor; just one suitcase, which was
opened, and a briefcase.
"Must've been a short trip," Grissom observed.
He took his gloved hands and began to rummage around in the suitcase. He
pulled out a royal blue sweater and slowly looked at Catherine.
"Color look familiar?" he asked knowing full well it would.
"Bright blue, just like those pieces of fuzz Sara and I found at the scene,"
Catherine sighed. However, upon further examination, she didn't think this material
matched the material they'd collected before. "But I'll take a sample just in case," she
said tweezing a sample.
Next stop was the bathroom; they wanted to get a sample of Blake's DNA for
comparison on the blood. The bathroom was shared between Blair and Blake, so they
had no idea which items belonged to which girl.
"Mr. Abraham, could you come up here please," Grissom called down the stairs.
Soon Mr. Abraham, joined by Brass, was upstairs and in the bathroom with them.
"Is there anything we can take that was Blake's back to the lab for analysis, like a
hairbrush or a toothbrush, maybe?" Catherine asked.
"Uh, this is her toothbrush," Mr. Abraham said reaching for a green toothbrush.
"No " Catherine yelped abruptly. "Let me get it; I've got gloves on. We don't
want to jeopardize any evidence that can possibly lead to the whereabouts of your
daughter, sir."
He nodded, and Brass led him back downstairs for more questioning.
"Oh, I wanted to ask you, when do you plan on bringing Faraday back in for
questioning?" Catherine asked Grissom once they were alone again.
"I got Nick and Sara there with her now."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Faraday found herself, once again, in the same chair at the same table, only this
time two different faces were staring back at her. The hard look Sara was giving her was
making her uneasy, but Nick seemed to have a more sympathetic air about him. This
time, Greg had personally pulled her out of school and driven her to the lab. He'd
chastised her for lying, saying they were his friends and the best investigators he's ever
known and that she should trust them. She'd yelled back that he wasn't the one
considered a suspect and that she'd had no choice but to lie. By this time Greg was
shouting too, and he'd told her there was always another choice, a better choice, than to
lie: to tell the truth.
"Faraday, the blood on the wall's not yours…but you knew that. Why did you lie
to us; you knew we were going to find out," Sara started off.
The teenager looked at the table; she was ashamed and didn't want to have to
look at them in the face. For the first time, Nick noticed just how much she looked like
Greg. Small freckles dotted her jaw-line and cheeks here and there; her eyes were doe-like
just like Greg's only blue. She had that wounded look that Greg sometimes got when
someone put him down or one of the CSIs weren't happy with his work. Her nose was
smaller than his though, almost anime-like, and her lips were slightly fuller, but one
could tell she and Greg definitely shared some DNA markers. Against his better
judgment, Nick spoke up.
"Y'know, Faraday, I've been in your situation. A few years ago, I lost a friend,
and I was accused of her murder."
"Nick—" Sara started but was silenced when he held up a hand in her direction.
She was going to tell him he couldn't just air out his dirty laundry for this kid, but Nick
had been in her situation and knew how scared it was being under the suspicion and
scrutiny of investigators. The girl looked up at him in disbelief.
"Yeah, and despite the fact that I was innocent, it looked like all of this evidence
was pointing at me. And y'know who was heading up the investigation? Ecklie "
Faraday knew how much of a dick Ecklie was because Greg had had a few choice
words to say about him whenever he was needed to work on one of his cases. Ecklie
often made him put in overtime to process his stuff; Greg didn't mind pulling overtime
for Grissom and his team, but he wasn't even on dayshift which Ecklie supervised.
"If it hadn't been for Catherine, I'd been charged with murder. I'd lost my job.
What I'm saying is we're good at what we do. You're innocent; you've got nothing to
worry about by telling us the truth."
Internally, Sara disagreed with Nick's assumption that the girl was innocent, but
she didn't say anything because it would start an unneeded argument between the four of
them, and Greg would probably never forgive her for thinking his little sister could be
guilty of such a heinous act.
"So, what really happened up in that tree house?" Nick asked.
Faraday hesitated for a moment but told him. "We got into an argument, and I
pushed her. Behind her was a hook where she hung her coat or her skateboard or
whatever she had at the time. She hit her head on it, and it started bleeding pretty bad. Out of instinct, I put my hand on the back of her head, but she was pretty mad at me, so she pushed me back, and I tried to steady myself against the wall. I didn't mean to push her that hard!" Faraday's voice went up in pitch at the last sentence. She was beginning to get upset.
"Hey; it's ok. What'd you guys argue about?" Nick asked gently.
"I can't say," she said shaking her head.
"Yes, you can; it might help us find your friend," Sara said trying to persuade the
girl to tell them.
"No; I promised her I wouldn't."
"Faraday, tell them everything you can," Greg advised her from his seat next to
her.
"Anything you tell us is helpful," Nick pressed.
With Greg, Sara, and Nick pressing her to talk, she finally snapped. "She told me
she was gay " she blurted out.
"And that made you upset?" Nick asked.
"No, I was ok with it; it's not a big deal. But she…she went to…kiss me and I…I
got nervous because she had the wrong idea, so…I pushed her away. I didn't want her to
think there was something like that between us, and then get her feelings hurt when she
found out that we were just going to be friends."
She started to cry.
"What's the matter?" Greg asked hugging his sister. "You didn't do anything
wrong; you're not in trouble."
"No, I'm just really worried about Blake. What if you never find her, or what if
you find and her, and she's—"
She wasn't able to finish that thought.
"Hey, it's going to be ok," Greg said holding her. In the back of his mind he
knew he couldn't really make that kind of assurance.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As they were going down the walk, Brass pulled out his pocket notebook and
filled Grissom and Catherine in on what he'd gotten out of Mr. Abraham.
"Alright, he said he was on a Continental Airlines flight 327 to Chicago two days
before the kidnapping and stayed at the Hilton, room 223 and was scheduled to stay for
two more days. I'm going to check out his story. Since Warrick found no signs of forced
entry, I asked him if anybody besides him and the girls had keys to the house." Brass
looked at his notebook. "Brad Peterson, fourteen years old; he's the younger one's
boyfriend. Mr. Abraham says he has a key, so he can get in to water the plants when the
three of them are out of town. I don't know why he doesn't just give the kid a key when
they go out of town; instead he made a spare one for him to keep. I tell ya, if Ellie were twelve,
a) she wouldn't have a boyfriend to begin with; hell, if I had it my way, she wouldn't
have one now, and b) I sure as hell wouldn't give him a key to the house. However, he
said he hasn't been around lately; seems he and Blair have been on the 'outs'," he
explained rolling his eyes at the thought of preteen "love."
"Did Mr. Abraham give us an address for this Brad Peterson?" Grissom asked.
"4516 Whistling Court."
"I think we have a date with Brad Peterson," Catherine said.
Within ten minutes, Brass, Grissom, and Catherine found themselves standing on
the doorstep of the Peterson residence.
"We're just about to sit down to dinner," Mrs. Peterson explained slightly
exasperated.
"I'm sorry, but this can't wait. We're here to speak with your son Brad about the
kidnapping of Blair's sister."
Mrs. Peterson's eyes narrowed. "You think my son had something to do with
that?" she asked anger rising in her features.
"We don't think anything…yet," Grissom told her.
Her husband joined her in the doorway.
"What's going on?" he inquired.
"These-these people think our son had something to with Blake's kidnapping,
Chris," she explained to her husband as she glared at the trio.
"What?" he asked in disbelief.
"No, we don't think anything yet," Grissom reiterated. "We just need to talk with
him. We can do this the easy way or the hard way."
The couple looked at each other but let Brass, Grissom, and Catherine in.
"Brad, can you come in here please," Mrs. Peterson called.
A blond-haired, green-eyed boy who was freakishly tall for his fourteen years of
age entered the living room. He wasn't big, but he wasn't beanpole thin either; he looked
like a basketball player in the making. He wore jeans and a gray Ohio State sweatshirt.
"What's up, Mom?" he asked giving the new people confused looks.
"These people want to speak with you about your relationship with the Abrahams,
sweetie," his mother told him.
"Are you originally from Ohio?" Catherine asked him gesturing to his sweatshirt.
"Huh? Oh, no, I'm just a fan of their killer football team," he said looking down
at his sweatshirt.
"Nice shoes," Brass said noticing his black boots.
"Thanks," Brad answered not really knowing where Brass was going with this.
"My daughter's a fan of 'em; Doc Martens, right?"
"Yeah."
"What size are those?" Brass asked, Grissom and Catherine now aware of what he
was getting at.
"Fifteen."
"Fifteen? Wow, those are big. You're going to be another Shaq," Catherine told
him trying to lighten up the situation. "May I see your left shoe?"
Brad began undoing the laces, but his mother stopped him.
"No, Brad." She turned to the detective and the two criminalists. "I see what
you're trying to do; you're trying to implicate him in this terrible ordeal. I know enough
about the law to know you require a warrant."
"You don't know as much about the law as I do. He's wearing evidence in plain
sight, ma'am; we can ask to look at it," Brass answered.
Mrs. Peterson shot him an angry look but nodded for her son to continue. Brad
gave his mom a worried look but finished undoing the laces and slid the boot off of his
foot. He handed it to Catherine, who took out the print Warrick had lifted the night of the
crime and compared them.
"We got a match," she said looking up at Grissom and Brass.
"Excuse me?" the boy's mother hissed angrily.
"Your son's shoe matches a print we lifted from the kitchen."
"So what?" Mr. Peterson snarled. "He's dating Blair; he goes over to her house."
"Mr. Abraham told us Brad and Blair have been having some problems, so he
hasn't been around lately. Any prints he would've left before would've been smudged or
erased by now. When was the last time you were over there? Thursday?" Brass asked
casually, but Grissom and Catherine knew what he was hinting at.
"My son wasn't there when that child was kidnapped!" Mrs. Peterson shrieked.
Ignoring his mother's outburst, the boy looked Brass in the eye. "The last time I
was there was two weeks ago."
"Your shoes say differently," Brass deadpanned.
"May I see your key to the Abraham's house?" Grissom asked Brad.
"Sure," he shrugged getting up to retrieve his keys. He came back into the room.
"It's not here; last time I checked, it was here. I don't know where it could be; I guess
anywhere since it must've fell off."
"So the key just up and walked away?" Brass asked sarcastically.
"That's it, my family doesn't need to be treated like this. You want anything else,
you're going to need a warrant. Please get out of my house," Mr. Peterson ordered.
Grissom gave a curt nod and rose to leave. As they made their way back to the
Tahoe and Brass' Taurus, Catherine turned to Brass. "Can we get a warrant to search the
house or the kid's room, at least?"
"He's got a key to the house and Brown lifted a fresh shoeprint of his despite his
claim of not being there in two weeks; the warrant's in the bag."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Wow, it feels good to be back. I hope you guys enjoy this next chapter. Thank you to
those who reviewed during my absence; sorry I didn't personally thank you up in the
author's notes, but I wanted to get this chapter out ASAP. Also, hope you didn't think
that little scene in the interrogation room with Greg and Faraday was too fluffy; I thought
it would be sweet and big-brotherly of him to hug her when she got upset :);
I'd like to think Greg can be a softy in a manly kinda way, lol.