A/N: Thanks to everyone for all the wonderful reviews! You guys are great! J
Chapter 2: Collecting Evidence
Catherine punched Grissom's number into her cell phone again and listened to the endless ringing on the other end. Why doesn't he pick up? she thought, worry starting to creep into the edges of her consciousness. She had called him six times in the last half hour and he always kept his phone on when he was in the field.
She tried beeping him again, pacing impatiently through the break room as she waited for him to return the call. After ten long minutes, she gave up. Grissom hadn't answered her other four pages either. Feeling more and more like something was wrong, Catherine strode out of the building and headed for the last place Grissom had been—their latest crime scene, the Miller house.
* * * * * * *
Climbing out of the Tahoe, Catherine scanned the dim front yard of the house. She had parked behind Grissom's matching SUV, so she knew that he hadn't left under his own power. Squinting toward the stoop, she made out a dark lump on the top step. A pale sliver of light coming from the slightly open door cut the night shadows like a cold blade. Catherine knew she should call for backup before charging into the house, knew the intruder or intruders could still be inside, but if there was a chance Grissom was in there she wasn't about to wait any longer.
Drawing her gun, she hurried toward the door. Reaching the officer lying on the cement, she felt for his pulse, continuing to scan the area for any sign of the cop's attacker. Finding Officer Jenkins alive, she peered warily into the dim living room.
Recognizing the prone figure lying there, Catherine's eyes widened and she rushed to her supervisor's side. "Grissom," she said, holstering her weapon and kneeling next to him. She immediately grabbed her walkie-talkie from its belt clip and sent an urgent message over the police frequency. "This is CSI Willows, I have two officers down, repeat two officers down at Miller residence, 1258 Smith Avenue. Immediate medical assistance needed. I repeat, immediate medical assistance needed!" She returned her walkie to its holder and tried to calm her suddenly rapid breathing.
She reached out a somewhat shaky hand and laid it gently on Grissom's neck. Feeling his pulse, she closed her eyes in deep relief. Then she looked him over more closely. Although the only source of illumination came from Grissom's discarded Maglite lying on the floor nearby, Catherine could tell he was hurt badly. His face was a mess of blood, and deep bruising was evident on his neck. She carefully touched his cheek and turned his battered face towards her. She grimaced as she saw the flowing wound along his left cheekbone. The whole left side of his face was covered with blood, which continued to run down into his hair and onto the already blood-spattered rug. "Grissom…what happened…" she whispered, not expecting an answer.
She began glancing around for something to use to stop the bleeding. There was a first aid kit in her truck, and she was about to go outside and retrieve it when, surprisingly, she did get a response from Grissom. His body suddenly jerked as he fought his way back to semi-consciousness. His eyes fluttered open and he tried to focus on her face.
"Gil, can you hear me?" She shook him slightly. "Gil?"
"Cath…" he replied weakly, his voice a raspy whisper. He coughed, trying to force air past his bruised larynx, trying to make sure she heard him.
"It's all right; you're going to be fine. Just lie still."
"No…Cath…" Grissom breathed. He reached unsteadily toward her with his left hand, trying to grab her and pull her closer to him, but his grasp was weak and tenuous.
"Shh, lie still," she repeated. "The ambulance is on its way." She took his outstretched hand and held it gently in both of hers, attempting to comfort him, but she didn't understand, didn't comprehend the urgency of his words.
He tried to fight her grip on his hand, tried to move her closer to him so she could hear, so she could know. "The evidence," he got out, "…on my…don't let…" His weak words trailed off into struggling wheezes, each inhalation of air causing intense pain to shoot through his injured ribs.
"You have to lie still," Catherine instructed, trying to hold him down without hurting him further.
A brief burst of adrenaline coursed through him and he sat halfway up. "Cath, you have to listen to me," he pleaded, the words quietly rushing out of him before he lost his breath again. "His blood…the suspect's blood…it's on my…" The rest was lost in a wracking coughing fit that stole his desperate words from the air and the remaining breath from his lungs. His meager energy spent, he slipped onto his back again, every second becoming a struggle to hang onto the last remaining wisps of awareness.
Catherine noticed his eyes closing once more. "Stay with me, Grissom, stay with me!" she ordered, hoping the strength of her words alone would be enough to help him hold on. "Stay with me!"
But his eyes slowly closed, and he slipped back into the darkness. Catherine heard the distant sirens of the paramedics and police cars. Hurry, she silently urged them. Hurry! She sat there, holding his hand tightly, as the screaming sounds of help cut through the night air, growing closer and closer.
* * * * * * *
As multiple sets of tires screeched to a halt, and sirens whirred down, pandemonium filled the early morning scene on Smith Avenue. It seemed that everyone arrived at once—two sets of paramedics, Captain Brass, Sergeant O'Riley, and the entire CSI graveyard shift. Officer Jenkins was loaded up quickly into one of the ambulances. The other paramedics rushed past Catherine and began working on Grissom. Then Warrick, Sara, Nick, and Brass hurried through the doorway.
"What happened?" Nick called over the din. He couldn't see past the crowd of people kneeling and standing on the other side of the living room.
"Where's Grissom?" Sara asked. She followed Catherine's glance to the left, and suddenly realized who the medics were gathered around. "Oh, my God," she said. She pushed her way though the rows of bodies until she got a glimpse of Grissom. One medic was checking his vitals, while another tended to the wounds on his face. Two more paramedics charged in, rolling a gurney. They collapsed it and loaded Grissom on, carrying him quickly past the group by the door. Sara followed close on their heels.
"What's going on?" Warrick asked, as they passed by him in a blur.
"I'm riding to the hospital with him," Sara announced, flying by the concerned cluster of her colleagues.
Catherine pulled Nick and Warrick to the side. The men stared at her, worry and confusion filling their expressions. "I'm not sure what happened, guys," she began, wishing she knew more. "Grissom came back here to see if anything was missed on the first sweep. After a couple of hours he still hadn't gotten back to the lab, so I called him and paged him, but I got no answer. So I came here looking for him. I found him lying over there."
"What happened to him?" Nick asked.
Catherine shook her head. "He must have surprised somebody who came back to the house. Maybe our murder suspect…I don't know. Grissom was beaten up pretty badly. He was bleeding and he had…" She stopped for a moment and swallowed, her hands unconsciously lifting toward her chin. "He had bruises on his neck—like handprints."
"Oh, God," Warrick groaned.
"Did he say anything to you?"
"He tried to," Catherine responded. "He woke up for a minute and tried to tell me something, but he never got it out."
The house had emptied, and the trio looked around. They took in the fresh blood on the carpeting, and Grissom's discarded gloves and gun. The room could tell them the story of what had happened, but right now their minds were on their seriously injured supervisor. Their eyes met again and Catherine spoke for them all. "They're taking him to Desert Palm. Let's go," she said solemnly, and they headed out to their waiting Tahoes.
* * * * * * *
The four CSIs and Brass paced the small area, awaiting news from the emergency room doctors. Every so often, they stopped and exchanged intense glances. Finally, a tall woman in scrubs entered the room. Five pairs of questioning eyes turned to her immediately as she introduced herself, "I'm Dr. Mitchell, one of the attendings who worked on Mr. Grissom. Why don't you all sit down?" No one moved, so she continued, "His condition is currently stable, but he has quite a few injuries. Luckily, none of them seem to be life-threatening." The doctor could practically feel the simultaneous silent sigh of relief that came from the five people in front of her.
"What happened to him?" Sara inquired, speaking for the entire group.
"You don't know?" the doctor asked, puzzled.
"No, Dr. Mitchell," Catherine explained. "I found Grissom after he was attacked."
"Well, 'attacked' is a good word, Officer." She again offered the group a seat with a soundless sweep of her arm. This time, the two women lowered themselves to nearby chairs while the men remained standing. "Mr. Grissom was attacked tonight, and rather viciously. He has a minor concussion, and lacerations on his face—one of which required ten stitches. Two of his ribs are cracked and his right hand is broken in three places."
Catherine winced—she hadn't even noticed his hand.
"And," the doctor was saying, "Mr. Grissom sustained severe injuries to his neck and throat. There is swelling around his vocal chords, and his esophagus and trachea. He was having some difficulty breathing but we brought it under control."
"Can we see him?" Catherine inquired.
"He'll be in the ICU for several hours for observation because of the concussion," the doctor told them. "After that he'll be moved into a semi-private room. The ICU is very strict on visitors, so I can only let you in one or two at a time right now, for a few minutes, but that's it. Then you'll have to leave. You can come back and see him later, during regular visiting hours."
"Thank you, doctor," Catherine said, standing and moving forward to shake Mitchell's hand.
"It's my pleasure. If you'll wait here, I'll send a nurse back to take you to Mr. Grissom's room."
* * * * * * *
The solemn trio of Nick, Warrick, and Brass stood outside the ICU after seeing Grissom. It had been hard to view their supervisor looking so hurt and helpless. CSIs were scientists, and usually not on the receiving end of the physical dangers of law enforcement. They had all had to pull their weapons at one time or another, but that was the exception, not the rule. They usually investigated the case, as objective observers, letting the evidence tell the tale. Never before had one of them "become" the case, as Grissom had now. Grissom himself could be the key to finding Kimberly Miller's murderer, but, for the CSIs, overcoming their emotional attachments could hinder the case. It wouldn't be as simple this time, being detached investigators. They all cared for and respected Grissom, and it would be hard not to let those feelings interfere with their investigation. Right now, none of Grissom's team was even really thinking about the case. Instead their minds were filled with concern for him and his perilous condition.
Captain Jim Brass felt the same way, but he knew someone had to take the lead here—take Grissom's place and get his team thinking about the case and the crime scene and the evidence. Jim wasn't a cold man; he cared about Grissom, too. But he knew that key evidence could be disappearing while they stood here, so, as Catherine and Sara emerged from the room, he spoke up. "Listen, guys," he began softly. "I know we're all worried about Grissom, but we have a job to do here. The person who attacked him tonight could very well be the murderer we're looking for. A murderer who came back for…a piece of evidence maybe that links him to the crime. And even though he may have taken something away from the scene…he may also have left something of himself behind. And if we can link him to the attack on Grissom, we can link him to Ms. Miller's murder."
The CSIs looked like they had just come out of a daze. They had been so caught up in their worry that they had forgotten to do the job they were trained for. The concern in their eyes hardened into fierce determination as they realized they would find the person who had hurt their boss and bring him to justice.
"Nick and I'll go back and examine the new crime scene," Warrick suggested.
Nick nodded and followed him out. "Meet you back at the lab later."
"I'll go check on the evidence we collected last night from the Miller bedroom," Sara offered.
That left Catherine and Brass standing in the hallway. "What about the evidence that may have been on Grissom?" Brass asked, eyes narrowing. "If he was in a close-quarters battle with this guy, maybe our suspect left us some DNA."
Catherine thought back to the actions leading up to Grissom's arrival at the hospital. She shook her head. "Most of that evidence has been compromised. At least a dozen pairs of hands have touched him, including mine." She chastised herself, "I should have known better. Any trace evidence left by the suspect is long gone." She took a deep breath. "I didn't check for any evidence on Grissom at the crime scene. Not even on his clothes. Damn it, I should have!"
"Hey, hey," Brass said in a calming tone. "Don't blame yourself. Your mind wasn't on the scene, it was on Gil."
She lowered her eyes. "I know, but…" Her head snapped back up. "Wait a second. There could still be evidence on him. Grissom's gloves came off at the scene…maybe he got some of our guy's DNA under his nails, or on his knuckles."
"Right," Brass agreed, nodding. "And didn't you say there were marks on his neck? Not just bruises, but handprints? Maybe that could give us something, too."
"Yeah." There was a glimmer of purpose in Catherine's eyes now. "I'll get my gear from the truck to collect any physical evidence preserved on Grissom. Could you talk to Attila the Nurse there for me? See if you can get me back into his room now?"
"I'll use my powers of persuasion," he replied, flashing her a small smile. "I'll also find out what they did with his clothes, just in case something survived the paramedics' and doctors' man-handling."
"Thanks," she tossed back, already moving down the hall.
* * * * * * *
Catherine had spent a good hour with Grissom in the ICU cubicle. She had taken one-to-one pictures of the bruising on his neck and the injuries on his face. She had taken samples from underneath all his fingernails. When she had tried to examine his knuckles, she was surprised to find an unusually shaped bruise on the back of his right hand. That was the hand that had been fractured, but luckily the doctors had not been able to cast it yet because of severe swelling. They had simply immobilized Grissom's hand in a splint until the swelling went down enough to put a cast on it. So Catherine had been able to get photos of that odd-shaped marking, too. She had also swabbed certain areas on his face and knuckles for traces of suspect blood.
It had been very strange working on Grissom under such circumstances. She had spoken to him as she worked, explaining to him everything she was doing, even though he had been unresponsive. Although he had offered no sign that he could feel anything she was doing, she had still been afraid she might be hurting him. The nurses assured her repeatedly that he was heavily sedated and resting comfortably, but still Catherine had done her collecting gently, and with the utmost care. She knew that Grissom would approve if he had been aware of her actions, but it had left her with an odd sensation that she still felt now that she had returned to the lab. She had left the evidence with Greg Sanders, and was waiting on the results with Sara in the break room.
"Did you find anything interesting in the evidence from the Miller master bedroom?" Catherine asked Sara.
"There was one thing. Greg analyzed a piece of black string for me. He said it was a wool knit, like from winter gloves or a ski hat."
"Really?" Catherine said. That didn't fit with anything else they knew…yet. But it might be vitally important later. Evidence was like a puzzle—they might have a piece that doesn't look like it belongs, but later they realize all they had to do was turn it around, or wait for the piece next to it to fall into place, and then it fit in perfectly.
"Any word from the hospital about Grissom?" Sara asked.
"No, but it hasn't been that long. Brass left word that they should call us if there's any change."
Sara nodded, and then turned silently back to her thoughts.
* * * * * * *