Disclaimer: Me not own!
A/N: Hey again. I thought I'd been nice and update this sooner, but it wouldn't let me :o( * Shakes angry fist *. Thanks to all who reviewed the first chapter: A Bloom, pdhtgal, The Madhatter, MissyJane, cRaZyPiXiE and PITAchic. The reviews are much appreciated, along with suggestions and feelings, so please keep them coming. Well I need to get on with my revision, so I'll leave you to read the next chapter. R&R and Enjoy!!! - Bex
~*~3 nights later~*~
Grissom couldn't hear a thing. Even though his surgery had been a success, restoring his hearing, the sight in front of him numbed his ears, blocking out the noise around him.
Lying in front of him was the dead body of Portia Hrubeck. Not only was she the fourth victim of their killer, but also the deceased stripper was a friend of Catherine's. He dreaded having to be the one to tell her the news. Not to mention Portia's daughters.
He thought about how Cath might react. Would she blame him for not finding her in time? He'd pulled her off the case 3 nights ago after her friend went missing, promising her that they would do everything they could to find her. And they had failed.
A blinding flash made him zoom back in. He looked up to see Sara photographing the body, her camera clicking as she went. He'd reassigned Warrick to work on any other cases with Catherine when they came in. There weren't any at the moment; so, consequently, both were waiting at home. Waiting for news. How ever, Nick was already searching the scene.
'What's the point?' Grissom thought grimly. 'The bastard wouldn't have left us anything.'
But maybe this crime scene would be different from the other four. Maybe the killer had slipped up, leaving them some evidence to their identity. He highly doubted it.
Portia Hrubeck had shared the same fate as the other victims before her, and they didn't have a damn thing to stop it from happening again. No one deserved this. Not even the women that the Sin City didn't give a damn about.
All of the victims had been female and either a stripper or a prostitute. The ones at the bottom of the food chain. The killer would first abduct them early on in the first night; keep them somewhere on the second, then rape, drown and dump them later on the third night. Then they would repeat the pattern all over again.
Each victim had been dumped in a public place, found dressed in identical white, flowing dresses that were brand-new and homemade. Their eyes were shut in fake peacefulness, arms crossed over their chest, a lily clutched in one hand as if in some sort of romantic slumber. Like a sleeping beauty out of a fairly tail. Though there was no happily ever after for them.
Except this time there was something different: the asshole was early. It was 1.26 am now, but the killer usually dumped the bodies later on in the night. Grissom didn't know what to make of it. He didn't know if there was anything to be made from it.
He knew already that Doctor Al Robbins would already repeat to him what he already knew; that Portia had died the exact same way as the other vics. He stared at her, feeling guilty at knowing that there was probably nothing here to lead them to her killer. That she wouldn't get justice for her death. That her children would not receive their closure. And that some other poor individual would share the same fate just for being in the wrong line of work.
He felt useless. He felt like he'd failed her. But he knew he shouldn't give up hope just yet. There was still the crime scene to search in feeble attempted to spot their killer's mistake. If there were any to find.
"Found anything Nick?" He called to the younger CSI, trying his best to not get his hopes up.
Nick shook his head dishearten, "Not yet."
"Keep looking ok," He ordered.
"Sure boss. But I think it's gonna be just like the others."
'Same here Nick,' Grissom agreed silently, but kept that thought to himself.
"I'm all done here Gris," Sara announced.
He could hear the frustration and pity in her voice. This case was wearing her down, just like it was doing to everyone else.
He nodded and waved two men over. They gently placed Portia's corpse into a body bag, lifting her onto a stretcher and carrying her off to begin her journey to Al's autopsy slab.
Grissom began to think about his options. He thought about asking Brit or even Jenny to take a look at the case. He couldn't help but smile inwardly when he thought about the beautiful baby girl she'd given birth to six months ago. A precious infant she'd named Melissa after her husband's best friend. Deceased just like him. He knew she still had a hard time coping with Ethan's death, but they were always there for her. Warrick had become especially closed to her, another helpless person trapped by her magnetism. But he worried, for both their sakes, about how deep Warrick's feelings were. Gris just hoped that he knew what he was doing.
Even though Jenny didn't work for him, he still wanted to get her thinking like a CSI she was destined to become. He would send her past case files and sometimes even ones they were still working on to see what she made of them. And quite a few times she'd spotted things he hadn't noticed or over looked, by using her knowledge of human behaviour as psychologist. Just like Brit would have done; look at the evidence, then the people, and then piece the two together. He wondered what they would make of this.
Grissom picked up his torch and joined Nick and Sara as they searched for phantom clues. He knew checking footprints would be useless, because this was a public footpath which was only deserted at this time in the morning. And there were no tyre marks on the road.
As Grissom searched, only one thing ran through his mind: 'How am I going to tell Catherine? Tell her that her friend's killer is going to get away, free to repeat the crime again?'
They spent the next few bleak hours searching the crime scene, only having their false hope to keep them going. Only to have it crushed once again. Grissom knew that both of his CSIs had given up long before him, but his desperation for a clue made him ignore this and insist that they kept going.
Finally, he called it off and told them that they better go back to lab. Empty handed again. He tricked his defeated mind into thinking that maybe Al would find something new when he did his autopsy. Or maybe there was a fibre or something on the dress. False hope was better then no hope at all.
They climbed back into the SUV, all sharing the feeling of defeat and failure.
"Our killer's only human," He told them to remind himself as much as them. "They'll slip up sooner or later."
"Yeah," came unbelieving replies.
Grissom thought back over the file about the abduction scene. Portia Hrubeck was kidnapped from the locker room of the strip club she worked at. Her locker door was still wide open. They had found traces of coke spilled across the floor, along with a bloody tissue, which was her blood. Catherine confirmed that she had a coke habit, so the blood was probably from a nosebleed as a result from this. Her locker door had caught Grissom's attention. It wasn't because of the photo of her girls, nor the mirror, but something that was missing. There were traces left behind from tape in a pattern as if it had been used to hold a photograph in place. A photograph that was no longer there, even if it had been in the first place.
Then there was the club full of people. Full of people who'd neither heard nor saw anything. He was, by that time, at the stage when he was willing to trust witnesses.
'Because,' Grissom thought darkly, 'How are you meant to only trust the evidence, when there is no evidence to trust?'
A/N: What do you think? Make that little button's day and my day by leave a review. Go on, you know you want to! :o)
A/N: Hey again. I thought I'd been nice and update this sooner, but it wouldn't let me :o( * Shakes angry fist *. Thanks to all who reviewed the first chapter: A Bloom, pdhtgal, The Madhatter, MissyJane, cRaZyPiXiE and PITAchic. The reviews are much appreciated, along with suggestions and feelings, so please keep them coming. Well I need to get on with my revision, so I'll leave you to read the next chapter. R&R and Enjoy!!! - Bex
~*~3 nights later~*~
Grissom couldn't hear a thing. Even though his surgery had been a success, restoring his hearing, the sight in front of him numbed his ears, blocking out the noise around him.
Lying in front of him was the dead body of Portia Hrubeck. Not only was she the fourth victim of their killer, but also the deceased stripper was a friend of Catherine's. He dreaded having to be the one to tell her the news. Not to mention Portia's daughters.
He thought about how Cath might react. Would she blame him for not finding her in time? He'd pulled her off the case 3 nights ago after her friend went missing, promising her that they would do everything they could to find her. And they had failed.
A blinding flash made him zoom back in. He looked up to see Sara photographing the body, her camera clicking as she went. He'd reassigned Warrick to work on any other cases with Catherine when they came in. There weren't any at the moment; so, consequently, both were waiting at home. Waiting for news. How ever, Nick was already searching the scene.
'What's the point?' Grissom thought grimly. 'The bastard wouldn't have left us anything.'
But maybe this crime scene would be different from the other four. Maybe the killer had slipped up, leaving them some evidence to their identity. He highly doubted it.
Portia Hrubeck had shared the same fate as the other victims before her, and they didn't have a damn thing to stop it from happening again. No one deserved this. Not even the women that the Sin City didn't give a damn about.
All of the victims had been female and either a stripper or a prostitute. The ones at the bottom of the food chain. The killer would first abduct them early on in the first night; keep them somewhere on the second, then rape, drown and dump them later on the third night. Then they would repeat the pattern all over again.
Each victim had been dumped in a public place, found dressed in identical white, flowing dresses that were brand-new and homemade. Their eyes were shut in fake peacefulness, arms crossed over their chest, a lily clutched in one hand as if in some sort of romantic slumber. Like a sleeping beauty out of a fairly tail. Though there was no happily ever after for them.
Except this time there was something different: the asshole was early. It was 1.26 am now, but the killer usually dumped the bodies later on in the night. Grissom didn't know what to make of it. He didn't know if there was anything to be made from it.
He knew already that Doctor Al Robbins would already repeat to him what he already knew; that Portia had died the exact same way as the other vics. He stared at her, feeling guilty at knowing that there was probably nothing here to lead them to her killer. That she wouldn't get justice for her death. That her children would not receive their closure. And that some other poor individual would share the same fate just for being in the wrong line of work.
He felt useless. He felt like he'd failed her. But he knew he shouldn't give up hope just yet. There was still the crime scene to search in feeble attempted to spot their killer's mistake. If there were any to find.
"Found anything Nick?" He called to the younger CSI, trying his best to not get his hopes up.
Nick shook his head dishearten, "Not yet."
"Keep looking ok," He ordered.
"Sure boss. But I think it's gonna be just like the others."
'Same here Nick,' Grissom agreed silently, but kept that thought to himself.
"I'm all done here Gris," Sara announced.
He could hear the frustration and pity in her voice. This case was wearing her down, just like it was doing to everyone else.
He nodded and waved two men over. They gently placed Portia's corpse into a body bag, lifting her onto a stretcher and carrying her off to begin her journey to Al's autopsy slab.
Grissom began to think about his options. He thought about asking Brit or even Jenny to take a look at the case. He couldn't help but smile inwardly when he thought about the beautiful baby girl she'd given birth to six months ago. A precious infant she'd named Melissa after her husband's best friend. Deceased just like him. He knew she still had a hard time coping with Ethan's death, but they were always there for her. Warrick had become especially closed to her, another helpless person trapped by her magnetism. But he worried, for both their sakes, about how deep Warrick's feelings were. Gris just hoped that he knew what he was doing.
Even though Jenny didn't work for him, he still wanted to get her thinking like a CSI she was destined to become. He would send her past case files and sometimes even ones they were still working on to see what she made of them. And quite a few times she'd spotted things he hadn't noticed or over looked, by using her knowledge of human behaviour as psychologist. Just like Brit would have done; look at the evidence, then the people, and then piece the two together. He wondered what they would make of this.
Grissom picked up his torch and joined Nick and Sara as they searched for phantom clues. He knew checking footprints would be useless, because this was a public footpath which was only deserted at this time in the morning. And there were no tyre marks on the road.
As Grissom searched, only one thing ran through his mind: 'How am I going to tell Catherine? Tell her that her friend's killer is going to get away, free to repeat the crime again?'
They spent the next few bleak hours searching the crime scene, only having their false hope to keep them going. Only to have it crushed once again. Grissom knew that both of his CSIs had given up long before him, but his desperation for a clue made him ignore this and insist that they kept going.
Finally, he called it off and told them that they better go back to lab. Empty handed again. He tricked his defeated mind into thinking that maybe Al would find something new when he did his autopsy. Or maybe there was a fibre or something on the dress. False hope was better then no hope at all.
They climbed back into the SUV, all sharing the feeling of defeat and failure.
"Our killer's only human," He told them to remind himself as much as them. "They'll slip up sooner or later."
"Yeah," came unbelieving replies.
Grissom thought back over the file about the abduction scene. Portia Hrubeck was kidnapped from the locker room of the strip club she worked at. Her locker door was still wide open. They had found traces of coke spilled across the floor, along with a bloody tissue, which was her blood. Catherine confirmed that she had a coke habit, so the blood was probably from a nosebleed as a result from this. Her locker door had caught Grissom's attention. It wasn't because of the photo of her girls, nor the mirror, but something that was missing. There were traces left behind from tape in a pattern as if it had been used to hold a photograph in place. A photograph that was no longer there, even if it had been in the first place.
Then there was the club full of people. Full of people who'd neither heard nor saw anything. He was, by that time, at the stage when he was willing to trust witnesses.
'Because,' Grissom thought darkly, 'How are you meant to only trust the evidence, when there is no evidence to trust?'
A/N: What do you think? Make that little button's day and my day by leave a review. Go on, you know you want to! :o)