A/N: This is another short chapter, but I promise the remaining ones will be longer. I hope you all like it. I wish you and your families a joyous and peaceful holiday season and a New Year filled with happiness and wonder! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!
Chapter 7: The Search
"Are you sure you want me to come with you?" the young man in the back of the Tahoe asked for the second time.
"Yes, Greg," Grissom assured him again, keeping his growing irritation under control. Sometimes the eccentric lab tech had a way of pushing his buttons.
"But after last time…"
"Greg, everything was fine last time."
"As long as you're sure."
"I'm sure," Grissom replied. "We need you there to help collect samples and take them back to the lab as quickly as possible. We know we have our guy, but we need to evidence to prove it. I don't want our suspect running scared or having time to come up with a cover story before we confront him with the evidence." When no more worried inquiries came from behind him, Grissom added, "Do you have gloves this time?"
"Yes, sir. I'm ready."
"That's good, Greg," the CSI supervisor said, then he turned and shared a purposeful glance with Catherine, who was driving.
They turned one last corner and pulled up behind the rest of their entourage, which was parked in front of Charles Newton's house.
Grissom cautiously climbed out of the SUV, toting his field kit in his left hand. He met up with Brass and the two of them walked to the front stoop of the neat-looking suburban house. The rest of the CSIs and Greg, their equipment at the ready, stood close behind them as Brass rang the bell.
After a short delay they heard "Who is it?" from the other side of the door.
"LVPD, Mr. Newton," Brass replied. "We'd like to ask you a few questions."
The door swung open and they faced a young man with straggly dark hair and dark eyes wearing pajamas and a bathrobe. It didn't surprise anyone that he also had a small but noticeable bruise on the left side of his jaw. As his gaze settled on Grissom's face, a brief flicker of recognition and rage shone in his eyes, but was just as quickly quenched.
This didn't escape the notice of the keenly observant CSI supervisor, and one side of his mouth quirked into an almost imperceptible grin before he spoke, "Good evening, Mr. Newton. I'm Gil Grissom of the Las Vegas Crime Lab, and this is Captain Jim Brass." They showed their IDs. "We have warrants to search this house, the property, all the possessions within, and to take a sample of your DNA."
Jim held up the corresponding paperwork, then handed it to Newton. "So if you'll step outside," he continued, "this nice officer will keep you company while the CSIs do their work."
"Certainly," Newton said as he calmly stepped out into the night air. He was completely cool and composed now, as he stood next to the uniformed officer who had also accompanied the group to the door. "What is it that you're looking for, Captain?" When there was no response to his question, Newton continued to stand there expectantly.
Greg had stayed behind outside, and faced their suspect. "I need a sample of your DNA, Mr. Newton," the lab tech explained. "Would you open your mouth please?"
Newton obeyed, and Greg scraped some cells from the inside of his cheek with a sterile swab. He clicked the protective cover closed over his sample. "Thank you."
Inside the house, Brass and the CSIs had spread out, trying to cover as much ground as possible. Grissom was searching the living room, shining his flashlight along furniture and knickknacks, moving slowly when he had to shift his position.
He made it over to the fireplace, which had a safety screen in front of it. He inhaled deeply, recognizing a very familiar odor. "Mr. Newton, have you lit a fire in here recently?" he called.
"What's that?" the suspect replied, too far away to have heard Grissom's strained voice.
Jim brought him back into the house, leaving the other officer to stand guard at the open doorway.
"Have you lit a fire here recently?" Grissom repeated.
"Why, yes I have, Mr. Grissom," Newton said innocently.
"How recently?"
"Last night, I believe."
"Wasn't it a little warm for a fire?" Grissom pressed.
"I like the ambience," the dark-haired man replied, smiling mockingly at him.
Nick had just returned to the living room from the kitchen, where he had apparently found nothing useful.
"Nick," Grissom said, calling him over. When the younger CSI was next to him, he went on, "I need you to check out the ashes in this fireplace and find out if Mr. Newton burned anything besides logs to create his 'ambience.'"
"Sure thing, boss," Nick replied, removing the hearth screen and kneeling down.
Sara walked in from the bedroom in the back of the house. "Hey, Grissom, check this out," she said. She held up two plastic evidence bags—one holding a black ski mask, and the other containing a pair of black leather gloves. She noticed a tiny smile on his face as she added, "Found them in a drawer full of winter clothes and stuff. He didn't even try to hide them."
"Great, Sara," Grissom commented. Then he turned back to the house's owner. "Do you ski, Mr. Newton?"
"I beg your pardon?" Charles replied.
"We found this in one of your drawers." He held up the plastic-encased ski mask.
"Yes, I do enjoy a good ski trip now and then."
"When would you say was the last time you wore this garment?"
"I haven't gone skiing in over a year, Mr. Grissom," Newton answered smugly. "I've been too busy with work."
"I see. And what line of work are you in, Mr. Newton?"
"I own a small delivery service."
Just then, Warrick entered. He had also been in Newton's bedroom, but he had been checking the closets. He was carrying three large paper sacks as he reported, "Bagged three pairs of cowboy boots." He moved closer so that only Grissom could hear him. "No sign of blood on the soles, though."
"That's fine, Warrick," his supervisor said. "Give them to Greg. You, too, Sara—hand off your findings to Greg. He's going to take everything back and start working on it."
"Got a chunk of something here, Gris," Nick called from the fireplace.
Grissom went over, ignoring his first instinct to squat down next to Nick to see what he was looking at. Luckily, Nick held up the sooty object in his gloved hand so the other man wouldn't have to bend too far. Grissom slid on his glasses to get a clearer look at the gray lump. "Could be a piece of a burned log," he hypothesized.
"Or it could be the remains of a funny-looking little wooden guy, about six inches tall," Nick added. "I'll collect these ashes, and we can sift them and identify them back at the lab."
Grissom nodded, and then turned as he heard his name being called from the other side of the house. It was Catherine, from the garage, and he headed out there to meet her.
She was standing next to Charles Newton's van. The vehicle was formerly white, a bit beat up, with "Newton Deliveries" stenciled across the side. "Found these in the cab," she told him, holding up a pair of black cowboy boots with a pointed toe.
"That makes four," he said. "Warrick found some other boots in Newton's closet."
She tilted the footwear up so he could see the soles. "There are some fibers stuck to the bottom that look like the same color as the vic's carpet, and that stain near the tip could be blood. I'll bag them and send them off with Greg to confirm."
"Good," he replied, obviously pleased with her find. "Have you checked in back yet?"
"Nope. I was waiting for you."
"Let's take a look." They moved around to the back, and he pulled the latch. They swung both of the doors open and peered inside. Grissom shined his small flashlight into the dark recesses of the van. The bobbing circle of illumination followed the contours of the somewhat fancy items hanging on the two rolling racks located inside. Grissom's light suddenly hit something that reflected a series of bright sparkles back into his eyes. He cocked his head to one side at this discovery, and moved in to get a closer look. "Catherine…" he said.
She came over, adding the glow of her flashlight to his in the rear of the van. "Looks like our friend Chuck was delivering costumes of some kind." She paused, trying to see more clearly. She moved some of the clothes aside with her gloved hand. "Maybe to a dancing school?" she wondered. "Do these look like they could be dance recital outfits?"
Grissom had heard all her comments, but his mind was occupied with something else. "Did I tell you that I found a blue sequin on Kimberly Miller's living room rug?" he asked.
"No, you didn't," she began slowly, getting on his wavelength. "Do you mean the other night before…the attack?"
"Yeah. It caught my eye as soon as I walked in."
"A blue sequin?" she repeated. "Just like the ones on these dresses."
"It links 'Chuck' to the original crime scene," he said. He walked to the driver side door and opened it up. His light glinted off a single blue sequin lying near the gas pedal. Reaching into his kit, he pulled out tweezers and a collection bindle. Very warily leaning into the cab of the van, he plucked the small shiny circle off the floor and dropped it into the envelope. He tried to muffle the moan of pain that escaped from him as he stood up again, but Catherine heard. She didn't mention it as she came over behind him.
"Got a solitary sequin off the van floor," he told her. "Will you take it out to Greg, along with those boots?"
"Sure," she replied, taking it from him. "Do you think we need anything else out here?"
"I think we're finished," he announced. "And so is Chuck Newton."
Catherine watched him intently as they headed back into the house. It was unusual for Grissom to condemn anyone before the evidence was processed and the science clear. But, of course, this time was different. This time Grissom himself had been one of the victims. He had been on the receiving end of a vicious attack, and now he wanted what all victims want—justice…and maybe vengeance as well.