A/N: Here's another chapter. I hope everyone likes it! Thanks for the continued support and reviews!
Chapter 5: The Mantle
Limping down the hallway, Grissom reached the door of his office. Fumbling with the lock left-handed, he lost his grip on the keys and they clattered to the floor. Crouching down to get them, he grunted in pain.
Just then, Sara rounded the corner and saw him. She increased her pace to get to him quickly. He looked up and noticed her, then grabbed the key ring and stood rapidly—too rapidly for his condition. He doubled over in agony, wrapping one arm around his ribs. Sara hurried to him, throwing her shoulder under his free arm to help him keep his balance. Then they slowly straightened up together. Grissom was breathing heavily from the strain. "Easy," she said. "You all right?"
"Yeah," he responded.
She took the keys from him and opened the door. "Let's get you in a chair," she said, helping him behind the desk. She lowered him gently to his seat. "There you go." She came around and sat down herself, facing him. "What are you doing here anyway?"
"I could ask you the same thing. Don't you ever go home?"
She was surprised at how rough his voice sounded, but she smiled at him, hiding her concern. "You know I don't. And what about you? Aren't you supposed to be resting?"
"Technically I was, but then I remembered something—something important."
She raised an eyebrow. "About your attacker? What is it, Gris?"
"I had hoped it would be more, but…it's all I have. I don't know what the guy got, but he definitely took something from the fireplace mantle."
"The mantle? Are you sure?"
He met her eyes. "Completely." After a beat, he went on, "The problem is, I know we have no 'before' shots of the living room, so we can't see exactly what he took."
Sara stared off to the side for a long moment, something coming into focus in her mind.
Grissom noticed her silence, and he recognized that look. It was the look of complete and total concentration, blocking out everything and everyone around you. He knew that he often got that look, too. It was something he and Sara shared. So he didn't prompt her, he just waited until she was done processing the thought.
"Hey, Gris," she eventually said, turning toward him with a big smile lighting her face. "I think we may have a picture of the fireplace mantle in Kimberly Miller's living room after all."
"What do you mean?"
"Follow me and we'll see if I'm right."
"Sara…"
"Come on," she told him, wearing a cryptic smile again. She took off quickly through the doorway. She was halfway down the hall before she realized Grissom was not beside her. She stopped, spun around, and went back to get him.
He was still making his way slowly through his office, almost at the door.
"Sorry," Sara said, popping her head into the room. "Let me help you." Draping his arm over her shoulders, she led him out of the office and down the hallway.
As they walked carefully, Grissom leaned forward, keeping his other arm pressed against his side, attempting to lessen the pain radiating from his extremely tender ribs.
Feeling most of his weight distributed over her own shoulders, Sara pointed out, "You know, you really should be in bed."
"Where are we going anyway?" Grissom asked, ignoring her comment and changing the subject.
"The photo lab."
He glanced at her and cocked a confused brow. "Of course."
"You'll see when we get there."
"I hope so."
They hobbled the rest of the distance down the corridor in silence, finally turning into the photography lab. Sara cautiously set him on a stool before beginning what she had come for. "I'll be right back," she told him. She stepped into the darkroom, which was built into the near wall like a large closet.
She was in there for a few minutes, and Grissom heard some odd sounds—a bunch of bangs, slams, and swishes—emanating from inside. "Sara?" he called.
She didn't answer right away. He heard one more hollow thud, and then her voice, loud and angry, "Damn it!"
Before he could ask her what was wrong, she stormed out of the darkroom. She opened two drawers in the large worktable occupying the center of the room, and then promptly closed them. Turning slowly, her hands on her hips, she made a full visual sweep of the room.
"What are you looking for?" Grissom croaked, when it appeared she hadn't found it on her own.
"The negatives from my photos of the Miller crime scene."
"Aren't they in the darkroom? Don't they keep them after processing the prints?"
"Yes," was her curt reply.
"Then what's the problem?" He looked at her, completely puzzled.
She shook her head, trying to break free of her extreme internal concentration so she could explain to Grissom what she was thinking. "I don't need the actual negatives…" She broke off, then began again, attempting to be more lucid, "You know how when you start a roll of film, you have to advance a couple shots before the camera registers it?"
He nodded.
"Well, when I started my roll at the crime scene I took a shot or two at the doorway to move the film along. Then I took the first photos that counted—the ones of the front door of the vic's house. I think I may have been aiming into the living room—toward the fireplace—for those initial shots."
The cloudy confusion on Grissom's face had broken and clear understanding now shown through. "Ah, so you need the end of your negative to see if you took a viable photo."
"Right, but I can't find it," she admitted. "The negatives in the darkroom start with frame number three—the beginning is cut off and missing."
Grissom swiftly scanned the room. His attention was immediately drawn to a small wastebasket near the opposite wall. He pushed off the stool, walked over, and squatted down to investigate the contents of the receptacle. He quickly realized that was a mistake and that he couldn't get back up.
Noticing his difficulty, Sara came to him. She grabbed his arm and helped him straighten up. "You know, you really shouldn't be bending down like that."
"I know," he agreed, reaching for and leaning against the nearby table.
Sara picked up the wastebasket Grissom had been trying to look in, and dumped it onto the surface of the worktable. It had been filled with discarded negatives, film canisters, poorly-developed prints, and other assorted darkroom detritus.
They both began sorting through the mess, holding any negatives they found up to the light to see if they belonged to Sara's roll of film. After twenty tedious minutes of searching in silence, Grissom finally spoke, "Got it, I think."
"Let's see," Sara said, taking the small piece of plastic from him. Allowing the fluorescent brightness to illuminate the negative as she held it to the ceiling, Sara studied the tiny images. There were two frames—actually one and a half—on the two-inch strip. They were numbered "1A" and "2A." 1A was the half-frame, completely white, which meant when developed it would just be a big black blur. Frame 2A was more interesting. It appeared to be a shot of the far wall of Kimberly Miller's living room, including an unobstructed view of the fireplace mantle and all the objects on it. "Good eyes, Gris," she said, smiling. "This is it."
"Do you want me to get a lab tech to develop it for you?"
"Nah, I'll do it myself." She headed for the darkroom. "Be out in a few minutes."
"Do you need any help?" he asked before she closed the door.
"No, I've got it." The latch clicked into place, and the red light above the door came on indicating "do not enter."
Grissom exhaled heavily and lowered himself painfully onto the stool to wait for Sara and her pictures.
* * * * * * *
Sara and Grissom were in the audio-visual lab with technician Archie Johnson, looking carefully at the likenesses on the large plasma screen. Sara was standing behind Archie, and Grissom was seated to his right as the trio studied the enlarged, digitized view of Sara's photo.
Archie, an accomplished image manipulator, confidently moved around his mouse and clicked computer keys to adjust the picture.
"Zoom in on the mantle, Archie," Sara instructed.
He did, and then refocused the pixels. There was a small collection of objects on Kimberly Miller's fireplace mantle, and Grissom compared them to the similar photo of the mantle he had in front of him, which had been taken by Warrick after Grissom's attack. Using a magnifying scope, and looking at the screen and then back down at the photo several times, Grissom noticed one item that appeared in Sara's image of the mantle but not in Warrick's. It was what looked like a squat brown statue of some sort. "Look what's gone missing," Grissom said, passing the picture and scope over to Sara.
She quickly came to the same conclusion as he had. "He took the statue? Why would he take the statue?"
"That's what we need to find out. Can you tell exactly what that is?" He pointed toward the large screen.
"No," Sara replied. "Archie, can you get a close-up of that little brown statue?"
"Sure." He shifted the mouse and pressed some keys. A clear image of the squat sculpture now took up most of the view screen. They could all tell now that it was vaguely anthropomorphic in shape, like an idol.
Grissom averted his gaze from the bright screen and pulled off his glasses, sliding them into his shirt pocket. He felt the beginnings of a headache and his eyes were burning fiercely.
"Looks like it's made of wood, maybe. A carving of some kind?" Sara asked, thinking out loud. "Maybe an African artifact or replica?"
"Could be," Archie commented. He was squinting at the image and running his finger across his chin. "It looks sort of familiar. I'm not sure why, but I'll look into it. I'll check the Internet for a match."
"Thanks, Archie," she said. Then she looked at Grissom who had been quiet for a few minutes. He was rubbing his eyes and massaging his forehead with his fingertips. She stepped behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Page us if you come up with anything," she told Archie, helping Grissom out of the chair.
Walking with him through the hallway, Sara was concerned. She knew he really should be in bed, resting, but she also knew he was stubborn and didn't want to be left out of the investigation. Grissom always felt better when he was working, but if he kept it up much longer, Sara was afraid he might simply collapse from exhaustion. "Do you want to go back to your office?" she asked. "Or maybe someplace more comfortable? You could sack out on the couch in the break room if you want."
"I'm okay, Sara. Really," he assured her, but he didn't sound very convincing.
"Yeah, I can tell," she replied, gentle sarcasm and genuine worry melding together in her voice.
She helped him back to his office anyway, and sat him down behind the desk. He fell into the chair heavily, letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
"I'm gonna get myself a soda," she began. "Do you want anything?"
He shook his head.
She ignored him. "I'll get you some cold water. Be right back."
He sighed, and then flipped open the Miller file which had been waiting on his desk.
Sara returned shortly, holding her can of soda in one hand and a bottle of water for Grissom in the other. He didn't hear her walk in. The file folder in front of him was open, but he wasn't looking at the contents. He was staring off to the side, brow furrowed, obviously deep in thought.
"Grissom?" she intoned gently, trying not to startle him. "Grissom?"
He slowly turned his head and focused on her.
"Here you go," she said, passing him the water and then sitting in one of the chairs facing his desk.
"Thanks," he replied absently. He unscrewed the cap and took two long gulps from the bottle.
"So," Sara began when he wasn't forthcoming with his thoughts, "you look like you have something on your mind. About the case?"
He still seemed distracted, but he met her eyes as he answered, "Yeah, I was thinking we should get that woman back in. Veronica Wilkinson, I think it was, the dead girl's friend?"
"She said she didn't know anything. She told Brass they weren't that close, remember? They just worked together."
"I remember, but I think now we should ask her about that strange little statue. Maybe she knows something about that."
Sara nodded. "Right. She must've been to Kim Miller's house at least once before two nights ago. Maybe that statue means something to her…or meant something to Kimberly."
He mirrored her earlier nod.
"Do you want me to call Brass? Get Veronica back in here?"
"Would you?"
"Sure. And then I'll check in with Archie, try to hurry him along."
"Thanks, Sara."
She smiled at him as she left the office, and then nearly bumped into Catherine as she turned back around.
The older woman had been coming down the hall at a good clip, but she stopped after her near collision with Sara. "Hey, Sara," she offered. Then she noticed who else was there, sitting behind the desk. "Grissom!" she said, sounding somewhat surprised and a bit irritated. "What are you doing here?"
He had been taking another sip of water, and he lowered the plastic bottle to the desk as he registered Catherine's presence. He sort of felt as though he were doing something wrong and had just been caught, almost like a little boy waiting to see the school principal. He pushed that uncomfortable feeling away, and tried to muster as much indignation and self-righteousness as he could to cover it up as he replied, "Why does everyone keep asking me that?" But his appearance and weakened voice made it come out sounding more pathetic than provoked.
"Because you shouldn't be here, Gil," she said, more gently than any of them expected. She wasn't as angry as she had first seemed; she was alarmed, worried, perhaps a little annoyed that he would risk his health this way—anything but angry. "You heard what the doctors said…"
"I know, I know," he interrupted, "I need to rest. It's just a little hard when we're working on a case and I'm the evidence."
Sara was still standing there, so Catherine told Grissom, "We'll talk in a few minutes," and then turned to the other woman, taking her arm and leading her down the corridor. "What's going on?" she asked Sara.
"He just showed up here a couple of hours ago. He said he remembered things about his attack, and he needed to tell someone."
Catherine was a little upset with herself for leaving him alone, but she had had no choice. If she had been there, maybe he wouldn't have come all the way down to the lab. But it didn't matter now. "Was anything he came up with helpful?"
"Yeah," Sara said. "He remembered that whatever the suspect had taken had been on the mantle. Then I realized that I may have gotten a photo of the mantle before Grissom was attacked."
"You did?"
"Yeah. It's a long story, but let me show you what we found. Archie's working on it now."
* * * * * * *
When Catherine went back to Grissom's office, she found him trying to look like he was working. He would flip through some pages or photos in the folder in front of him, and then shift in his seat, or lean back and try to stretch, or rub his eyes and the bridge of his nose. His physical discomfort was obvious.
When she sat down in front of him and he looked up at her, she could see the lines of pain etched in his face. His blue eyes were clouded, almost glazed, and she knew that was the pain penetrating, showing its ugly presence also. He seemed completely worn out, but he still wanted to be there with his team, in the midst of it all, working on finding his attacker and Kimberly Miller's killer.
"Did you bring any of your medication with you?" she asked him.
He slowly shook his head. "Puts me to sleep."
"Of course it does, Gil, because you need…" she trailed off. He'd heard it enough times, and he knew it was true. They all knew it was true. But they also knew that wouldn't stop him from being here. "I keep saying these things because I…because we all…"
"I know, Catherine," he said, his voice low and gentle. "And I appreciate it, I really do. But I think you understand that I have to be here until this is all over."
"I do understand," she assured him, reaching out and covering his hand with hers. She ran her thumb over his fingers a few times, then sat back. She gave up chiding him for the time being, but her nurturing instincts wouldn't be completely quieted. "All right, so can I help you with anything?"
"Nothing right now," he said. His soft gaze silently thanked her for getting back to business. "But if…but when Archie comes up with something on that statue, I'll need all of you to help track it down. Did Sara fill you in on that?"
"Yeah, she did. She's with Archie now. He thinks he might have something, but no details yet."
There was a small glint of hope in his eyes now. "Are Nick and Warrick here yet?"
"I think so. I thought I saw them in the locker room."
"Great. Could you ask them to join Sara and Archie on the computer hunt?"
His phone rang before Catherine made it out of the office. "Grissom," he said into the receiver.
She waited by the door until he finished the call. All he had uttered during the brief exchange was "Good," and "Thanks, Jim." She looked at him expectantly as he hung up the phone.
"They have Veronica Wilkinson down in interrogation," he explained. "I had wanted Jim to bring her back in so we could ask her about the statue. Maybe it has some meaning to her."
His voice broke with the last word and he tried to clear his throat. He took another sip of the water. They both knew that his faint voice and battered appearance would make him a less than efficient interrogator. They wanted the young woman they spoke to to feel comfortable. So Catherine volunteered. "Do you want me to talk to Veronica?"
"I'd appreciate it." As he stood, his face tightened in pain, but he made it to an upright position.
"Where are you going?"
"I'd like to watch," he replied simply, and she came over to help him make it down to the interrogation rooms.
* * * * * * *