I don't own CSI or it's characters......... yet maw ha ha.

Author's note~ This is going to be the first story in a series I'm writing about the CSI team, you'll see what makes it unique later on ;o)



Gil Grissom of the Las Vegas Criminalistics Graveyard shift stepped from the black Tahoe, a silver evidence case in his hand. He surveyed the scene. Several police cars surrounded a small warehouse including an ambulance. Jim Brass of the LVPD walked up to him.

"One dead." He said, "We've identified him as Philip Morrison."

"Who called it in?" Grissom asked, Brass pointed to a young woman who was talking Catherine Willows, a fellow CSI..

"She says she was out walking her dog by the warehouse when she saw the door was open and Morrison was inside."

"Did she touch him?" Grissom asked.

"She says she didn't, Warrick and Nick are inside checking for evidence, Catherine's talking to the woman and Sara is out back checking for any evidence she can find."

"What does it look like?" Grissom questioned.

"It's pretty clean, looks like the guy was beat up a bit first then shot," Brass said as they entered the warehouse. Warrick was off to the left checking for trace evidence while Nick was taking photos of a crumpled body laying on the floor, blood pooled around it.

"Hey Gris," Nick said as he looked up, "What took you so long?"

Grissom scowled at the younger CSI, "Traffic." He replied simply, "How far have you guys gotten?"

"We're close to being done." Warrick replied, "There was a lack of . . . Anything. Evidence included."

"Blood?" Grissom asked, but Warrick only shook his head.

"I'm guessing he was killed somewhere else. He was shot in the head but there's barely any blood at all."

"Well let's finish up here and get back to the lab. I want Doc Robbins to take a look at this one first chance he has."

"Why?" Warrick asked as he bagged a hair.

"Because I don't like it," Grissom replied.

"It's a murder," Nick said, "What's there to like?"

"Nothing," Grissom replied.



Hours later, back at the crime lab...



"Hey Greggo," Nicks head popped around the corner of the lab rats nest, "You paged me?"

"Yeah," Greg said, "But your not going to be happy."

"You didn't find anything?" Nick asked, slightly bewildered by this, "No matches, no nothing?"

"Nothing, at least nothing that will help you." I couldn't get any matches off of the partials you gave me. AFIS spit them out negative."

"What about the hair fibres?"

"Nothing," Greg answered, "I swear there's absolutely nothing."

"Great," Nick muttered, "Man Grissom isn't going to be happy about this."

"Your funeral," Greg shrugged.

"Thanks for your confidence, man."

"No problem," Greg said.

Nick began walking back towards Grissom's office, He nearly bumped into Sara.

Hey! Watch where your going Nicky!" Sara exclaimed, "You almost made me spill my relatively human sludge we call coffee!"

"Sorry," He muttered, "I'm in my own little world right now."

"And that's something new?" Sara asked, "Tell me what did the singing flowers tell you this time?"

Nick punched her lightly in the shoulder, "Going to see Grissom?" He asked.

"Yeah," Sara said, "He asked me to find out what care was used at the crime scene."

"There were tire marks?" Nick asked, 'I didn't see any."

"Warrick found them," She replied.

"Anything?"

"Nothing" She sighed, "The castings were to smudged to get anything out of them."

"Someone burned rubber to get out of there fast." Nick muttered.

"It would appear so." Sara replied.

The walked down the hall into Grissom's office, Warrick, Catherine and Brass were already there talking quietly among themselves.

"Well it's about time," Brass said, "The reporters have already gotten word about this and their spreading it around like the ebola from 'Outbreak'"

"That was a scary movie." Sara said.

"Do they know who died yet?" Catherine asked.

"No, fortunately. We're waiting for you guys so we can go inform the widow."

"Did Robbins find anything?" Warrick asked.

"Nothing," Grissom replied as he walked into his office, "At least nothing out of the ordinary, several broken ribs, died from a single gunshot wound to his right temple."

"Type of gun?" Sara asked.

"Looks like a .44 caliber but he's not sure yet, still has to remove the bullet."

"So now what? We go inform Mrs. Morrison?" Catherine asked.

"That and look through her house for evidence." Grissom replied.

"Spouse is always the most likely suspect, right?" Brass said.

"Not always," Grissom replied, "Just now."