Disclaimer: I don't own any of the recognizable characters in this story. Heck, I don't even own some of the unrecognizable characters. I don't own the song, either. It's called No Mystery and can be found on the CD The Great Symphony by Brian Maes. You can order that off his website, www.brianmaes.com, if you're so inclined.
Dragon Tales
By RaajmdTMP
Chapter 3: F/X
Grissom, Catherine, Sara, Warrick and Nick were crowded in Gil's office, updating each other on their respective discoveries. Most came up empty. Nick had concluded that the dog had been killed much earlier than the torture victim. Gil and Catherine had the only semi-useful revelation to be shared, that being Hastog seemed to be copying crimes.
"How'd you make out with that reporter, Al Funt?" Catherine asked Sara.
"Well, needless to say he wasn't in, he works days. I was able to set up a meeting with him, day after tomorrow."
"Good. Maybe talking to someone with first hand knowledge of the case can tide us over until Caine calls us back. See if Funt can tell you anything we don't know."
"Is this good news I hear?" Brass said from the doorway.
"Moderately good news."
"Well, I think I can make our outlook even better. I got an ID for your vic. Just finished talking to the family ten minutes ago. They're from Montana. Name's Kevin Graham."
The expression of interest on Gil's face changed into something blank, empty. "Kevin Graham?" Grissom grabbed the autopsy photo of the young man. You've got to be kidding me. "How…"
"He was a professor at Princeton. When he didn't return from his vacation, his boss started to worry. Wasn't like him not to call. Then she saw the news story."
Gil nodded distractedly, eyes still on the picture. "Who's coming for Ke…for the body?"
"His mother. She said she'd be here by tomorrow morning."
"Can I…I'd like to speak to her."
"Anything you want, pal. You're the boss," Brass said, looking at his colleague oddly. "Remember?"
"Yeah, of course," Gil said absently, staring at the autopsy photo in bewilderment. This continued for a few minutes, his co-workers watching him, before he rose abruptly and fled his office.
* * * *
Gil Grissom was in his blue Tahoe SUV in the parking lot outside the LVMPD Crime Lab. He planned on leaving, but hadn't quite made it that far. Now, he lay reclined in the driver's seat with an arm over his eyes, his glasses in his hand. He had the radio on, loud enough to be heard from a short distance away. In brief pauses in the music, his hitched breathing could be heard.
* * * *
I can see through the smoke
Somethin' is going wrong
Talk to me baby
Tell me what's goin' on
I'm not sure what it is
But I can make it right
We can wrap it up together
Put it out of sight
* * * *
Catherine Willows walked out of the crime lab. Following Grissom's hasty retreat from his office, she had given him a few minutes to calm down from whatever was bothering him before setting out to find him. Her search had brought her to the parking lot after she turned up nothing inside. Perhaps he had…no, his SUV was still there. He hadn't left. She strode closer to the vehicle and noticed the faint sound of music emanating from it. It wasn't Gil's usual classical music, oddly enough. Approaching the passenger side, she glanced inside. She knocked swiftly on the window.
* * * *
Don't you see?
I'm like a willow tree
I'm gonna bend for you
It's no mystery
Don't you know?
I'm goin' where you go
You put the love in me
It's no mystery
* * * *
The rapping sound of knuckles on glass brought Grissom from his reverie. He dragged his sleeve across his eyes as he turned to see who had disturbed him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and unlocked the door.
"Hey, Cath."
"Hey, yourself," she paused, taking in his appearance. She didn't ask if he had been crying. It was apparent enough. His beard had caught a good deal of moisture from his tears and his eyes were red. "So… what was that back there?"
"Nothing," he attempted, but his voice was rough, almost cracking.
"You pull a vanishing act over nothing? I don't think so."
"It isn't anything to worry yourself with."
Her eyebrows lifted, threatening to disappear into her hair. "Right…" she drawled. She climbed into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut. "I'm not even going to ask if you want to talk about it."
He let out a huff and threw his arm back over his eyes. All that could be heard in the car for a few minutes was the song on the radio.
* * * *
There's a face of a stranger
Lookin' back at me
I know you're in there somewhere
Darlin' you've got to be
You know you keep me waiting
Just like you always do
But if it takes too much longer
I'm comin' after you
* * * *
Grissom felt movement next to him and heard the clicking sound of the seat reclining. He ventured a glance at Catherine, only to see her stretched out in the seat opposite, her head supported by her hand.
"Nice place you've got here." Gil snorted and Catherine caught a hint of a smile on his lips. "Hey, you okay?" she asked gently. She was rewarded with a smirk as he turned, adopting her position.
"I thought you said you weren't going to ask."
"I lied."
* * * *
Don't you see?
I'm like a willow tree
I'm gonna bend for you
It's no mystery
Don't you know?
I'm goin' where you go
You put the love in me
It's no mystery
* * * *
Grissom watched Catherine's concerned face for a moment before answering. "I'll be all right, Cath." She opened her mouth to argue the point further. "I promise," he said, cutting her off.
"You know I'm here, though, if you change your mind and want to talk."
"I know."
* * * *
You open the window
I'm in the air
You tell me a story
I listen with care
* * * *
"I better get going then. Got to pick up Linds." Catherine earned an all out smile at the mention of her daughter. "Maybe you could come by later, she's been asking for you." At the slightly reluctant look on his face, she added, "Or you could try and catch up on sleep. God knows you need it."
"Thanks, Cath."
She smiled back at him before readjusting her seat and stepping outside. She closed the door carefully, waved goodbye and headed towards her own car.
"For everything," he finished, watching her retreating form.
* * * *
Don't you see?
I'm like a willow tree
I'm gonna bend for you
It's no mystery
Don't you know?
I'm goin' where you go
You put the love in me
It's no mystery
Don't you see?
I'm like a willow tree
I'm gonna bend for you
It's no mystery
Don't you know?
I'm goin' where you go
You put the love in me
It's no mystery
It's no mystery
It's no mystery
It's no mystery…
* * * *
The echoes of the chords fade as the young man becomes lost in thought. He sits on the hotel bed, the guitar balanced on his thigh. The last few months had been hell for him, ever since he celebrated his twentieth birthday in August. His sister started college in September and he was left to fend for himself. It had been his choice, mind you. He had tried the college thing for a year and it didn't work out. After all he'd been through in his lifetime, school didn't hold his attention.
He never dreamed he would be following in the footsteps of his best friend's brother, but there it was. He almost laughs at the memory of the reaction of his friends' mother, before he remembers his own mother's reaction. He felt he had disappointed her, and that was one thing he never wanted to do. She had experienced enough disappointment to last a lifetime.
He frowns, laying the guitar down on the bed and standing. He walks over to the window and pulls back the curtain. The neon lights of the city shine brightly against the dusk gray sky. The excitement in the city below him is palpable. He'd been many places in his short life and Vegas was the strangest. That was certainly saying something, when it came to his life.
His career as a photographer has started out a bumpy one. He sold a few photos from his mother's gigs to what he thought was a legitimate newspaper. The pictures eventually wound up in a tabloid article exploiting the death of his father. It was amazing that fifteen years after his father's death they still wouldn't let it go. He had had enough of it. If his father deserved anything, it was to rest in peace.
His mother didn't blame him for it. She was, as always, understanding. When he had told her he was going to try to find work, she insisted on paying for hotel rooms until he got on his feet. He grudgingly accepted, because he had no other choice.
He was getting there, though. Tomorrow he was showing his portfolio to a company in town. It was a corporate job, nothing really creative about it, but it was still a job. His mother called it a stepping-stone.
The young man let the shade fall back into place and headed for the bathroom. If he was going to get any sleep tonight he needed to relax and he couldn't think of anything better for that than a hot shower.
* * * *
"It's déjà vu, all over again, all over again," Brass said, standing next to the two CSIs. Shift had barely even started fifteen minutes ago.
"Never thought I'd see this again," Warrick agreed. Sara stood on his other side, case in hand.
"I guess we shouldn't underestimate Hastog's observational skills. I though we'd be through with this now that Millander's dead," Sara said, looking at the scene before her. The young man lay in the bathtub on top of the blanket from the bed. He had been shot in the stomach and the gun had been placed in his right hand. In his left was a small tape recorder. It had been staged with incredible accuracy. "He's so young."
"Do we have an ID, Brass?"
"Room was registered to a Jack Phillips. License confirms," he answered, holding up the bagged wallet.
"When was he born?"
"Give you one guess," he said, handing the bag to the pair.
"August 17, 1983," Sara read. "He was twenty."
"We gotta call Grissom."
* * * *
The phone rang in Grissom's office just as Catherine walked by looking for him. Not seeing him anywhere, she headed in and picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Catherine?"
"Yeah."
"Where's Grissom? We tried his cell but he's got it turned off."
"That's a good question. I was just searching for him myself. What did you want him for?"
"We just showed up at another Hastog killing. He's hit closer to home this time."
"What is it?"
"Millander."
"He copied Millander?"
"Pretty good imitation, too."
"Well, you two keep working. I'll fill Grissom in when I find him."
"Thanks, Catherine."
"Hang on a second, Sara. Did he leave a note?"
"Haven't found one yet. He left the usual, tape recorded 'suicide' note, and the murder weapon."
"Yeah, um…call me if you find a note, will you?"
"Sure."
* * * *
Molly Graham sat at the table in a room not far from the morgue. She had just been taken to see her son. She stayed long enough to positively identify him before she needed to get some fresh air. Jim Brass had taken her to sit down while she composed herself. They had been conversing quietly for a few moments.
"Ms. Graham, can I ask you a few questions?"
"Will it help find out who did this to Kevin?"
"It may help."
"It won't take long?" Brass shook his head. "All right, then."
"What did your son teach?"
"Psychology."
"Were any of his students angry with him, that you know of?"
"I don't think so. At least not enough to kill him. And why would they follow him to Vegas?"
"Stranger things have happened, ma'am." She gave him a look that clearly said Tell me about it. He smiled but sobered quickly. Back to the matter at hand. "Ms. Graham, is there anyone who would want to hurt your son?"
"Hurt Kevin? No, no one."
"Your ex-husband…you and he break up amicably?"
"Not really. We—Wait a minute. You think Will did this?"
"I'm not thinking anything right now."
"No, no, I know what you're doing. It's not going to work. Will was a lot of things, but he'd never…he wouldn't try to hurt Kevin. He wasn't like that…"
"When was the last time you saw your ex, Ms. Graham?"
The woman's eyes narrowed. "If you are going to continue asking questions like that, Captain Brass, I… I don't have to sit here and take it. You want to hear about Will? Find him and ask him yourself." She stood up from the table and started for the door.
"Ms. Graham, hang on a second. My colleague Grissom from the crime lab wanted a word with you. If you could—"
"Where is he then?"
"He's probably running late, he'll be here—"
"If he'd really wanted to talk to me, he'd have been here on time. He can go jump off a bridge, for all I care. I'm going to go sign for my son, if that's not too much trouble," she hissed.
Brass gestured that she could go. As she turned around to face the door, it swung open. She came face to face with Grissom, who was arranging the folders he was carrying. All the color her face had gained during her standoff with Brass drained quickly away. When Grissom looked up from the files, he blanched as well. His skin was deathly pale under his beard. After a few seconds of strained silence, Molly regained some of her composure, along with her anger.
"Gil Grissom," she stated flatly.
He still seemed unable to speak. She shook her head disbelievingly, strode over to him and slapped him hard across the face, before storming from the room. He staggered back into the door from the force of the blow.
"Hey!" Jim called after her as he started to follow. Gil stopped him, a hand on his arm.
"Let her go," he said blankly.
"She slapped you!"
"She just lost her son."
"She hit you for no—"
"Maybe…maybe she had a reason," Grissom said soberly, gently touching his stinging cheek.
* * * *
Who is Hastog? Why is he killing these people? And what's up with Grissom? Find out that and more in the continuing Dragon Tales.
Next Chapter: Collateral Damage- What will the CSIs do when Hastog kills someone important to their world?