Our interview with Lieutenant Smith was disappointing. He had no idea that
his wife had been pregnant, and Grissom had failed to mention to us that he
hadn't informed the man exactly how far along she was. Shock and grief was
evident on the man's face. Inwardly, I cursed Grissom for not being more
sensitive, but then, this was Grissom, he just didn't think sometimes.
Nick and I finished up interviewing the Lieutenant and let him know that we would be unable to release his wife's body for burial for at least a few more days. I hoped that we'd be able to let him put her to rest sooner rather than later. The man left looking a bit shell shocked. I knew that look all too well. As we left the interview room, I wrapped my arms around myself. I wasn't cold particularly, just anxious about everything to do with this case. It was bringing up things that I didn't want to think about and for the countless time in the last couple of days I fought to squash the emotions that threatened to surface.
I glanced at Nick as we walked toward the break room. "I'm going to review the case files for a while."
He looked at me and I could tell that he was becoming worried about me. Not just because I'd taken to eating take out again and become a recluse, and not just because I broke my hand hitting his dashboard. Nick Stokes was my friend and he could see through me. I just silently hoped he wouldn't press me, because I felt like with one push I would disintegrate and cease to exist.
"Ok." He let it go, but I knew we would talk later. I didn't really have much of a choice since I wasn't allowed to drive for the next couple of weeks. I poured myself a cup of coffee and found an empty office to hole up in and get lost in the details the files would offer up. As I read them, a few things began to emerge.
Chelsea Smith was not an innocent. As I looked into the background that O'Reilly compiled on her, I learned a few things. At one point in time, she had worked as an intern at the very branch of the LVMPD that the tazer gun had been stolen from. In fact it disappeared about the same time she would have learned she was pregnant, and about the time same her husband had shipped out to sea.
I began to mull that over. Could she have stolen the tazer feeling that she needed to protect herself from something or someone she couldn't talk about? Certainly living with her grandfather wouldn't offer much protection, even if he was a decorated war veteran. We needed to find out who the father of her baby was and soon. I believed that held the key to this case. At least I hoped it did. Whoever he was held the most motive to kill her, especially if he'd found out she was pregnant and had refused to abort the child, or give it up for adoption.
Another thought occurred to me. Someone at some point in time must have known that Chelsea had the tazer. How else would they have used it against her? Her murder was clearly premeditated. Hydrochloric acid was not something people kept around the house outside of fertilizer. The concentrations of it that we found suggested another source. And at that concentration, not using personal protective equipment would spell certain death, or at the very least, very serious injury.
I placed a phone call to O'Reilly and left him a message to call me. I wanted to know if he or any of the other uniforms had interviewed any of the neighbors, if anyone had noticed someone coming by on a regular basis. Neither Chelsea Smith nor her grandfather had any other family outside of each other and her husband, so the next step was to find someone, anyone who knew them.
I realized that I was starting to get a serious headache and my hand was throbbing. I glanced up at the clock and realized that I'd been sitting for the last three hours. I supposed I should make my way to the break room as shift was going to start soon, and at least make an appearance before Nick, or worse yet, Grissom came looking for me.
Everyone was already assembled around the table as I entered. Thankfully, only Warrick commented on my hand.
"Sara, I hear you tried to go a few rounds with Nick's Denali." He smiled at me with an expression that conveyed that he understood I didn't want to talk about it.
I chuckled softly and quipped back dryly. "Yeah, any excuse I can find to meet cute doctors."
After Grissom assigned cases to Warrick and Catherine, he looked at Nick and I. "I assume you're still working the same case."
I nodded. "Yeah, I've got a few interesting tidbits of information, I'm just waiting for O'Reilly to call me back with something. I just need to go over it with Nick."
Nick raised a curious eyebrow at me and I was pretty certain by the accompanying expression that it wasn't because of what I'd just said. I had a feeling we were going to be talking in the not too distant future about what had been bothering me and this time he wasn't going to just be content to just let it slide.
Nick and I finished up interviewing the Lieutenant and let him know that we would be unable to release his wife's body for burial for at least a few more days. I hoped that we'd be able to let him put her to rest sooner rather than later. The man left looking a bit shell shocked. I knew that look all too well. As we left the interview room, I wrapped my arms around myself. I wasn't cold particularly, just anxious about everything to do with this case. It was bringing up things that I didn't want to think about and for the countless time in the last couple of days I fought to squash the emotions that threatened to surface.
I glanced at Nick as we walked toward the break room. "I'm going to review the case files for a while."
He looked at me and I could tell that he was becoming worried about me. Not just because I'd taken to eating take out again and become a recluse, and not just because I broke my hand hitting his dashboard. Nick Stokes was my friend and he could see through me. I just silently hoped he wouldn't press me, because I felt like with one push I would disintegrate and cease to exist.
"Ok." He let it go, but I knew we would talk later. I didn't really have much of a choice since I wasn't allowed to drive for the next couple of weeks. I poured myself a cup of coffee and found an empty office to hole up in and get lost in the details the files would offer up. As I read them, a few things began to emerge.
Chelsea Smith was not an innocent. As I looked into the background that O'Reilly compiled on her, I learned a few things. At one point in time, she had worked as an intern at the very branch of the LVMPD that the tazer gun had been stolen from. In fact it disappeared about the same time she would have learned she was pregnant, and about the time same her husband had shipped out to sea.
I began to mull that over. Could she have stolen the tazer feeling that she needed to protect herself from something or someone she couldn't talk about? Certainly living with her grandfather wouldn't offer much protection, even if he was a decorated war veteran. We needed to find out who the father of her baby was and soon. I believed that held the key to this case. At least I hoped it did. Whoever he was held the most motive to kill her, especially if he'd found out she was pregnant and had refused to abort the child, or give it up for adoption.
Another thought occurred to me. Someone at some point in time must have known that Chelsea had the tazer. How else would they have used it against her? Her murder was clearly premeditated. Hydrochloric acid was not something people kept around the house outside of fertilizer. The concentrations of it that we found suggested another source. And at that concentration, not using personal protective equipment would spell certain death, or at the very least, very serious injury.
I placed a phone call to O'Reilly and left him a message to call me. I wanted to know if he or any of the other uniforms had interviewed any of the neighbors, if anyone had noticed someone coming by on a regular basis. Neither Chelsea Smith nor her grandfather had any other family outside of each other and her husband, so the next step was to find someone, anyone who knew them.
I realized that I was starting to get a serious headache and my hand was throbbing. I glanced up at the clock and realized that I'd been sitting for the last three hours. I supposed I should make my way to the break room as shift was going to start soon, and at least make an appearance before Nick, or worse yet, Grissom came looking for me.
Everyone was already assembled around the table as I entered. Thankfully, only Warrick commented on my hand.
"Sara, I hear you tried to go a few rounds with Nick's Denali." He smiled at me with an expression that conveyed that he understood I didn't want to talk about it.
I chuckled softly and quipped back dryly. "Yeah, any excuse I can find to meet cute doctors."
After Grissom assigned cases to Warrick and Catherine, he looked at Nick and I. "I assume you're still working the same case."
I nodded. "Yeah, I've got a few interesting tidbits of information, I'm just waiting for O'Reilly to call me back with something. I just need to go over it with Nick."
Nick raised a curious eyebrow at me and I was pretty certain by the accompanying expression that it wasn't because of what I'd just said. I had a feeling we were going to be talking in the not too distant future about what had been bothering me and this time he wasn't going to just be content to just let it slide.