Gil Grissom stood in the parking lot across the street from Luna's Diner surveying the crime scene. Two drive-by gang shootings had taken place there in five hours and thirty-three minutes. He knew this all too well.
He watched as the last few victims were loaded into waiting ambulances to be taken to the morgue. The body count was at seven dead and four wounded – two of those critically.
Grissom knew he needed to get his team focused on collecting evidence. Evidence was the key.
Evidence would help them find whoever had hurt their own.
*****
Eight and a half hours earlier …Grissom was in the break room pouring himself a cup of coffee while he waited for his crew to arrive for their shift. He already had their assignments prepared.
He grimaced as he took a sip of his beverage, amazed at the sludge some people considered coffee. He went to the sink and proceeded to pour it down the drain. To him, this meant Greg Sanders hadn't arrived yet. The young lab technician had a predilection for gourmet coffee. Often he brought his favorite blends in and hid the supply.
"I take it Greg's not in yet?" Sara Sidle said, entering the room as Grissom tossed his Styrofoam cup in the trash.
"Either that, or he's trying to poison me."
Sara nodded and seated herself on the couch while Grissom started the search for Greg's stash of coffee.
"Grissom, man. You'll never find Greggo's stash," Nick Stokes said as he leaned against the doorframe, smirk on his face as he watched his boss.
Warrick Brown chuckled from where he stood behind Nick. "Yeah Gris. The little rat's too good at hiding the stuff. We've tried and come up with jack."
Warrick then felt himself shoved into Nick's back, causing them both to stumble forward. Thankfully they both kept their balance. The pair turned to see Catherine Willows standing there, hands planted on hips and a smirk gracing her face.
"Didn't your mothers teach you boys not stand in the doorway? Other people need into the room too."
"Well hello to you too, Cath," Warrick said, mild sarcasm tingeing his voice.
"Now that we're all here," Grissom stated, having since given up his search for Greg's secret stash, "I have assignments to hand out." He picked two folders off the counter. He handed one to Sara. "You and Warrick have a apparent suicide at the Westwood Apartments." The other folder he handed to Nick. "You and Catherine are with me. DB at the Sands."
With that everyone headed off to their assignments.
At the Sands …Detective Lockwood approached the trio of CSIs when they arrived. "Hey," he greeted, and then explained what was happening. "Victim's name is Mark Little. He and his wife, Lisa, were meeting an out of town friend for dinner and the guy drops dead while walking through the lobby. The friend, Robert Lewis, thought it was a heart attack, but couldn't revive him. Paramedics arrived and couldn't do a thing either. Wife claims it can't be a heart attack because he had not history of heart problems and he's a healthy man in his early forties. She's freaking out, thinking someone poisoned him or something."
"Okay," Grissom said. "Catherine take pictures. Nick question the friend. I'll talk with the wife."
Nick nodded and left while Catherine took out the camera and began snapping off pictures of the body.
Grissom and Lockwood approached a woman in her mid thirties. She had dark hair and green eyes. The woman was obviously distraught over her husband's death. Although Grissom couldn't rule her out as a suspect until he had all the evidence analyzed.
But it doesn't mean I'll be rude, he thought as he flashed her a sympathetic smile. "Mrs. Little? I'm sorry for your loss. My name's Gil Grissom and I'm with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I just wanted to ask you a few questions."
The woman looked up at him with a tear-streaked face. "O – okay."
"You told the detective earlier that your husband had no history of heart problems. Is it possible that it runs in his family?"
"No. Uh, no one in his family ever had heart disease or anything like that."
"So you believe he was poisoned?
"Yeah – yes. I mean, what else could it be? He is – was a healthy man. We always jogged together. He liked to lift weights. Mark was always taking care of himself."
"Was he on any sort of medications?"
"Um, just pain killers. He – uh, he had knee surgery a few weeks ago. Fell while running a marathon and messed it up. He's only been on it for the last week. Mark took a couple pills when we left and sat in the back seat on the way here so he could elevate it while they kicked in."
"Do you have those pills with you?"
Lisa began to dig in her purse. "Here they ar – are." She held up a prescription bottle of Vicodin. "Do you think someone put something in his pills?" she sobbed.
"I don't know. But I need to consider all the possibilities."
Nodding wordlessly she handed him the bottle of pills.
Nick was questioning Robert Lewis. And in his estimation the man was in shock. Although it could be an act, Nick didn't think so. But he knew how Grissom felt. Everyone was a suspect till the evidence eliminated them.
"So you performed CPR and couldn't revive him?"
The man nodded wordlessly.
"Do you know if Mr. Little had any health problems that could have caused his death?"
Robert swallowed. "No." The man's voice cracked on the one word. "Only problem I know of was his knee surgery. Guess he did it running or something."
"Well, Mr. Lewis, if there's anything you can think of that will help give me a call. Okay?" Nick stood and looked at the man compassionately. The man simply nodded.
