"What are we looking for?" Nick asked, wrestling the latex over his hands.
"Anything establishing the last known time and date that Rodgers was alive," Catherine answered, looking around the rent house with her hands resting on her hips.
"I'll take the outside," Nick said. There were bags of what he assumed to be trash on the back porch, and a garbage container in the alley.
"I'll take the back half," Warrick volunteered.
"That leaves me the kitchen and what passes for a living room," Catherine exhaled.
She laid out a thin plastic tarp on the kitchen floor and dumped the contents of the kitchen trash on it. The more-than-week-old trash smelled disgusting, and Catherine fought back a wave of nausea. She concentrated on each item she picked up, no matter how mundane, trying to find any way that its age could be determined.
Five minutes later, she was nearing the bottom of the pile. Lifting up a now-dried coffee filter full of grounds, she spied a crumpled slip of paper, soaked through with the brown stain of coffee.
"Oh, please. Oh, please," Catherine chanted softly, gingerly unfurling the paper. "Shit! Ink's smeared from the freaking coffee. Maybe Ronnie can do something with it," she reassured herself, setting the paper to the side. It only took another few minutes to complete the trash, with nothing else to show for it.
"Catherine!" Warrick bellowed, taking huge strides into the kitchen.
"In here," she answered, though it was obvious where she was.
"I found something," he said with more fervor than he usually let show.
"Whaddya got?" she asked excitedly as she struggled to stand gracefully.
"ATM receipt, dated the 15th. He couldn't have been killed on the 14th."
"Yeah, that's good, but we really need to find something from the 16th. That would get Sara completely in the clear."
"I'll keep looking," Warrick said, handing her the ATM receipt to put with her find.
"I'm going to go ahead and take these into the lab. You and Nick keep looking. Think outside the box. Anything that can give us a timeline. Anything at all," she said.
"We're on it," Warrick nodded.
* * * * *
Wiping her hands carefully on the towel, then running it over and under the door handle to Sara's car, she looked up and down the street before packing her tools away in the SUV. A locksmith couldn't have done it better. She always believed a job worth doing was worth doing well.
And there was nothing she wouldn't do for her love. Why, that's the reason she'd sent the hearts from her offerings first. How better to show your affection than giving your beloved the heart of the women who had hurt him?
A proud smile beamed, even though her love wasn't in a position to see it.
No, she probably has him in some lewd position. Bitch! What does he even see in her? Sweet Gil isn't shallow, but what could he find to like about the whore? She's too skinny. All bones. Her hair is flat, with no body.
The Angel of Death laughed aloud on the empty street. Soon, the whore really would have no body!
This time, Gil would see the light. There's no way he'd protect her this time. He couldn't without implicating himself. He was smart enough to know that he'd have to get rid off her before they called the police.
It was the first step – he would reject the bitch. She needed that experience before her final punishment was delivered.
* * * * *
"Grissom!" Sara shouted as she opened the door to her Yukon. It wasn't locked tonight, and she was sure she had locked it when she got to Grissom's townhouse after shift that morning.
Grissom quickly made the few strides from his car to her SUV.
"Looks like someone left me a present," she said, pointing at the box in the front seat.
"Call it in," he said, looking around for anything out of the ordinary in his neighborhood. It was obvious that whoever was stalking Sara knew she was at his house now. Though he was relieved she wasn't staying alone, he knew that she wasn't safe. The killer could just as easily have put a bomb in her car as a box. As a matter of fact, for all he knew it was an explosive.
"Sara, wait. Let's step away from your car before you use the cell phone."
"You think it could be a bomb?" she asked incredulously.
"I have no idea. But there's no reason to take a chance," he said, holding her arm as they crossed the street and walked down the block a few hundred feet.
Sara called Brass, surprised that he made no comment about the address she'd given for her location.
"Brass didn't say anything, but what am I supposed to say when everyone gets here?" Sara asked nervously as they walked back to his car.
Grissom kicked the valve stem out of the tire, drawing an amazed gasp from Sara that blended with the hissing of the escaping air.
"Oh, my God! Why did you do that?"
"My tire was flat and I didn't have time to get it fixed before work. I called you to pick me up."
"Oh, and I didn't happen to notice the box in the front seat of my SUV?"
"Put on some gloves and put it in the back seat."
"That's tampering with evidence," Sara warned.
"Okay, say someone put it in when you came up to get me. I wasn't quite ready and you came in to wait. When you came back down, it was in there."
"That's establishing a timeline we might have to eat later."
"What do you think we should do, then?" Grissom asked, suspecting he knew her answer.
"Tell the truth ... mostly. But only answer their questions," she said hesitantly, knowing he wouldn't be comfortable with it. "You have a guest room. We can tell them that I'm staying here until all of this mess is over. It's the truth. They don't have to know which bedroom I sleep in. It doesn't have any bearing on the case."
"Guess I'll call AAA to come fix my tire," Grissom grumbled as Sara giggled silently behind her hands.
* * * * *
"When were you in your Yukon last?" Brass asked as the swing shift coroner's assistant took the opened box from the hands of the bomb technician who had cleared it.
"This morning at about eight," Sara answered firmly, fixing Brass with a gaze that warned him to stick to the essential facts.
"So it was out here unattended for at least twelve hours." Brass said, more to himself than to anyone else, as he glanced up and down the street instinctively.
"Yes, it was," Sara answered.
"Was it locked?"
"Yes, it was," she answered succinctly.
Brass inspected the door locks and window seals for signs of tampering.
"Jimmied the door, it looks like. Hope that doesn't cause you any trouble. Amateurs can mess up the locking mechanism."
"I'll have it checked out," she said, her arms crossed almost defiantly.
Brass glanced over at Grissom, who was standing on the other side of his car as the tire-man was replacing the valve stem and airing up his tire. Grissom met Brass's eyes for a moment, then was thankfully drawn away by the need to sign the repair slip.
* * * * *
She swallowed the coffee angrily, not caring that the hot liquid burned on its way down. It was nothing like the burning in her heart. He'd actually betrayed her to protect that bitch.
How could he? That bloody bastard! I am doing all of this for him, to protect him, and he ruins it! All for that goddamned whore! What were you thinking, Gil?
Now that the police were there, it was only a matter of time before they pieced together the fact that the slut was screwing him. This could hurt his career. Didn't he realize she was trying to protect him from that?
The thought was unsettling. Could he really not be as brilliant as she first thought? Had she wasted her time on some hormone-driven fool?
No. Look at Gil. He's embarrassed to be seen with her. He's keeping his distance. I should have realized that he'd take his job too seriously to compromise a scene. Oh, poor Gil! I hope he's not too ashamed, but maybe this will teach him a lesson. He can't be with her. They weren't meant to be together. The whore will only hurt him.
The Angel of Death pulled into traffic and drove back to her home to prepare her next package. Now wasn't the time to stray from the master plan. Her Gil wasn't like that. He was being manipulated by the scrawny slut.
This was yet another incident for which the whore would pay.
Oh, she'll pay all right. I always collect my debts.
Death pays all debts.
* * * * *
"Two hearts means at least two victims. When will you know if these are from more than two victims?" Catherine asked.
"The first heart and brain will probably be DNA-typed this morning. Greg will start the serological testing on the other parts, and start extractions for DNA."
"Well, I got good news the minute I walked in tonight," Catherine said, beaming.
"Go on, share!" Nick urged.
"Ronnie was able to enhance the stained grocery receipt I found at the bottom of Buddy Rodgers's trash. It was dated the 16th. And considering it was at the bottom of the trash with the morning coffee grounds, and other trash, including food, was on top of it, he was alive and kicking through much, if not all, of the day. He was killed the night of the 16th, when you were working with Nicky."
"I'm excluded," Sara breathed in relief.
"Yes, ma'am. I already put in a page to Vega. It's all circumstantial, but so's the evidence against you. If this doesn't convince him and the Sheriff, then I don't know what will, short of a signed confession from the real killer."
* * * * *
Grissom had spent much of the morning with Trace, Fingerprints and Questioned Documents, assisting where he could. The rest of the time he hovered until each tech ran him out of their labs, to go pester one of the others. He made a circuit of the labs several times until shift was over, coursing through the corridors like a rat in a maze.
Sara had spent her time with Greg, helping to prepare samples for serology and DNA. She ran some of the immunoassays while he tended to the DNA extractions.
With the end of shift having already come and gone, Sara was still helping Greg monitor the printer that was attached to the computer that was, in turn, attached to the DNA Analyzer. A vibration on her waist drew her attention, and she read the small digital screen: "PLS COME HOME."
Greg watched her out of the corner of his eye as she smiled broadly. It had only been a little over week since she and Grissom had become involved, but his house was already starting to seem like home to her.
Judging by his page, he apparently also felt that she belonged there. Sara knew that she still had a long way to go when it came to getting inside Gil Grissom's head, but she was pretty sure of her place in his heart.
Shift had actually ended an hour ago, but shortly before that, Greg said that the PCR DNA analyzer was almost ready to give up her secrets. He had been given plenty of sample, so replication wasn't much of an issue, and the sample wasn't degraded.
Grissom had walked by the lab at the stroke of eight o'clock, just as shift was ending. All week, he'd left within half an hour of the end of shift, but since no one had been working overtime this week, the only CSI aware of the change in his routine was Sara.
He stuck his head in the door, silently checking on what they were doing.
Looking up, Sara realized that it was quitting time, but they still hadn't gotten the promised results.
"We're waiting on the DNA from the heart. Then we're going to cross-reference against CODIS," Sara explained.
"Oh. Okay. Well, you two don't stay too long. It's getting late in the month and we're running out of overtime," Grissom said, hoping she'd get the hint.
"It should be out soon," Greg said, willing his prized machine to hurry.
Grissom knew that if he stayed, she wouldn't leave at a reasonable hour, taking his presence as tacit approval for her to continue to work. Though he was tempted to join the DNA-watching party, he wanted her to rest more, so he left, hoping to entice her away.
"Somewhere you gotta be? Someone you gotta call?" Greg asked, rousing her from her reverie, pointing at her pager.
"No. Just a reminder," she said.
"Musta reminded you of something nice, considering the grin on your face," Greg teased.
"How much longer until we get these alleged DNA results?" Sara shot back. "I think I was lured here under false pretenses."
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Greg retorted. "Besides, I said we'd be getting the results soon. 'Soon' is a relative term."
"So it's my fault for not asking you specifically when?" Sara laughed. "Okay, precisely when are these results going to be ready?"
"In three minutes," Greg answered. "Another couple of minutes to fire up CODIS. But there's no way to know how long that will take. It could be a few minutes or it could be hours."
"I'll give it an hour," Sara said, looking at her watch. He'd just be finishing breakfast now, reading the morning paper. Within the hour, he will have skimmed the news, and completed the crossword puzzle.
She knew he wouldn't really miss her for another hour or so, but she decided she should still call, if for no other reason than to acknowledge his page.
"Excuse me, Greg, I've gotta make a quick call," Sara said, standing to leave.
"You can call him from here," Greg said knowingly.
"I don't know what you think you know, Greg, but if any rumors get started, I'll know who to kill first," Sara quipped.
"Puh-leeze! I was there, girlfriend. You were all over him like a cheap suit."
"If you are referring to Grissom, I was impaired. I wasn't responsible for my actions."
"Yeah, whatever. I didn't see either one of you struggling against that lip-lock you were in."
"Greg!" she barked, slapping him playfully across the arm.
"Thar she blows!" Greg shouted, pulling the readout from the printer tray. "I'll be cross-linking this to CODIS while you call your boo," he said, winking.
"Hey," Sara said softly into the cell phone, her back turned to Greg.
"When are you coming home?"
"Soon. We just got the results, and Greg's putting them into CODIS now. I thought I'd give it an hour to see if we can get a match, then I'm giving it up for the day."
"Just an hour, right?"
"Yep, just an hour."
"Promise?"
"Yes, I promise," she chuckled. He knew her too well.
"If you're not here in an hour and 15 minutes, I'm coming up there to drag you home. I want to see you for a while before bedtime."
"Never pegged you for a caveman."
"I need you here with me."
"Need?" she asked.
"Yes. And want," he clarified.
"See you soon," she said, hanging up.
"Go. I'll page you when I get something," Greg said, not meeting her eyes.
"That's okay. I'll wait with you."
Which is worse? Knowing she's with him? Or knowing she'd rather be with him, even when she's here with me?
How long can he possibly hold onto her? I could understand her crush on him before, while it was just a fantasy. But now that she's living her fantasy, how long can he keep her happy? We are talking about Grissom, after all.
No, maybe it's better for her to be with him as much as possible. Let her get it out of her system, give him more opportunity to screw up. He'll do it – he always does. And when he does ...
"Naw, I've got some other things to do while I'm waiting. I'll page you the second I get anything. No reason for you to sit here and stare at the computer when you could be ... uh ... resting."
"You're the best," she said, walking over to put a friendly hand on his shoulder.
One day, maybe you'll really mean that.
* * * * *
The Angel of Death stared at the common chippie as she strode across the parking lot, as if she didn't have a care in the world. Smiling; she had the gall to be smiling as she got into her Yukon!
Proud bitch. Probably too dumb to realize her mistakes. The whore probably thinks she can steal my Gil without any consequences. There are always consequences.
It would be so easy to get rid of the witch now. If nothing else, it would help settle her own nerves not to have to watch the brown-haired slut tempting sweet Gil. Shoot her, run her over, run her off the road, and strangle her with her own intestines.
That last idea sounded especially pleasant. A smile formed at the thought of watching the look of horror on the bitch's face as her life was choked out of her with her own viscera. Unfortunately, it could only be a daydream.
No, Gil has to reject her. He has to see that she's the wrong woman for him. Otherwise, he'll moon her once she's gone, instead of realizing that she was a leech on his soul.
They say ignorance is bliss. Considering how stupid she is, no wonder she's happy. If she thinks she can get away with hurting my darling Gil, she's sadly mistaken.
Letting out a sigh, the Angel of Death drove in the opposite direction. As much as she desired to mutilate Sara, she had an appointment for a pedicure. It would be rude to be late for the appointment, and she was never impolite.
* * * * *
"Did you get a hit on CODIS?" Grissom asked as soon as she closed the door to his townhouse.
"Well, hello to you, too," she teased.
"I was just surprised to see you already. I thought you were staying."
"I was. But Greg said he'd buzz me when he gets a hit. I think I was getting on his nerves."
"I doubt that," Grissom said, coming up behind her as she rooted through the refrigerator for some juice. Sliding his arms around her as she stood to take a drink, he inadvertently tickled her, making her almost choke on the juice.
She whirled in mock-anger, still encircled in his arms. "You trying to kill me?" she finally choked out.
"I could give you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation," he offered.
"Hmm, that might make it worthwhile," she purred, leaning into his kiss.
"Are ... you ... hungry?" he asked, each word punctuated by a kiss, first to her lips, then her neck, then her collarbone.
"In a manner of speaking," she answered, running her hands up under his shirt.
* * * * *
She slipped her sunglasses on before pulling the baseball-style cap low over her brow. Grabbing a clipboard, she hopped out of her SUV and went to the vehicle's side door. Taking out the package, she tucked it carefully under her arm before walking up the street.
The key to success was always acting as if you had every right to be doing what you were doing, wherever you're doing it. No one questions a confident person. If you didn't belong, you wouldn't be so confident! And when it came to her love, she had no doubts.
To any potential observers, she was just a delivery person. No one would pay her any attention. No one would remember a thing about her.
My gift is another story! Oh, Gil, soon. Soon, we'll be together. I can offer you so much, show you such pleasures as you've never imagined.
Fate meant for us to be together. I knew I had been right to save myself for my soul mate. I knew I was making the right decision when I moved to Las Vegas six years ago, although at the time I didn't understand what drove me to come here.
You were the first one to grab my attention as I walked through the airport terminal. I knew immediately that you were different from any other man. Your intelligence beamed through the crowd. I knew you were meant to be mine.
The Angel of Death walked up to Willows's house, smiling as she played at double-checking the address on her clipboard. After pretending to ring the doorbell, she carefully propped her package against the door.
Good things come in small packages!
She chuckled to herself as she strolled back to her SUV. Over and over again, she practiced signing her future name – Angela Grissom – on the papers attached to the clipboard.
TO BE CONTINUED ...