Sara was awakened some time later by the sound of a door shutting softly. She blinked once, trying desperately to clear her head, and sat up. For a second, she was confused about where she was, until she recognized Grissom's floor. She looked up, noticing that she was on the floor of his bedroom, lying against the floor with a flannel blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
She frowned. She remembered falling asleep with Grissom, but there had been no blanket involved. She pulled it tighter around her shoulders as she sat up, acutely aware of its 'Grissom' smell. She smiled softly, then stood.
She walked quietly out of his bedroom, entering the large living room. At first she didn't see anyone, then she was able to make out the still, dark form of Grissom standing in front of a window. His hands hung loosely at his side, and he seemed lost in thought.
Sara closed her eyes for a moment, unsure of how she was supposed to comfort him. The man had just found his mother murdered, how do you comfort that? Plus, Sara had no idea what that felt like. She wouldn't even know how to comfort someone whose parent died of natural causes. She'd never had to go through that. She opened her eyes, then slowly approached Grissom. She laid a hand on his shoulder gently.
He turned his head slightly to glance at her, the back to the window. "Hey," she said softly. He nodded in response. She moved to stand beside him, staring at his eyes even though he refused to look at her. "You okay?"
He looked down at the floor. "As well as could be expected," he said grimly.
Sara moved a little closer, then reached down to grasp his hand. He looked at her in surprise for a moment, but she was inspecting the cut. She looked up at him after a moment, finally meeting his eyes. She almost made herself look away. The happiness that had shone so prominently the previous night was gone, replaced by helplessness and inclusive grief. She tore her eyes from his after a moment, under the pretext of examining his hand. "You cleaned it up," she stated.
He nodded, turning once again to stare out of the window. "Yeah." He offered no further explanation, which really didn't surprise Sara.
She put her hand back on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "You want to talk about it?"
He sighed heavily, his shoulders drooping. This had obviously been something he dreaded. "I just…" He ran a hand through his hair nervously. "I just don't know how…how to deal with this. I don't know what to do, what to feel." He looked down at her, and Sara was surprised to see a tear rolling down his face. "I'm lost."
Sara closed her eyes, then surprised Grissom by wrapping her arms around his waist, leaning her face on his shoulder. He didn't pull away, nor did he break down. He just put a hand on her back softly.
"I'll help you, Grissom. I'll help," she whispered.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Nick frowned as he stared at the door to the autopsy room. He knew what waited inside, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to face it or not. A dark aura seemed to have befallen all of the graveyard shift upon hearing the news of Grissom's mother and Grissom's slight breakdown. And just his luck, Nick had gotten assigned to work the case…
He shook his head. Would he be able to work the case objectively? He thought so, though he would be unable to take some of it personally. It would take all that he had to not strangle the bastard who had killed Mrs. Grissom. But, perhaps strangling would be better than what Grissom would have to do to him.
Catherine stepped up behind him, noticing his clenched jaw and distant gaze. She put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to jump. "You ready?" she asked quietly.
He smiled feebly. "It's just another case…" he said, more to convince himself than her. For him to do his job correctly, he couldn't think of the woman as his mentor's mother, a major part of the man's life. He had to think of her as just another person found dead, as hard as it would be.
She nodded, then pushed the door open. Doc Robbins looked up as they stepped in, his own face grave. He limped over to the table, where the body was covered in a sheet. For that, Catherine was grateful. Not having to see Mrs. Grissom cold on the table right away was a relief. She and Nick both nodded to Al, then took their places next to the body.
"Just another case, just another case, just another case…" Nick was chanting under his breath, trying to steady himself. He had to do this, he had to catch whoever had done this. For Grissom, for the man who had taught him all he knew about being a good CSI.
Robbins put his hands on the gurney. "Evelyn Grissom, age seventy-one. Cause of death was multiple stab wounds to the chest and abdomen," he said, sounding more tired than he usually did. "Deaf, and has been for quite a while." He sighed and shook his head, pulling up the sheet to show them the wounds, but still hiding the woman's face.
Catherine grimaced at the site. "Definitely an angry crime," she commented softly. She looked up at Nick. "That's usually the kind of crime we see from an upset relative or lover."
Nick frowned. "Well, she was an old woman, and the clerk didn't say anything about a man." He shook his head. "I don't know…"
Catherine stared at the floor for a moment. "I'm going to go back and bring in the hotel manager, see what he has to say."
Nick nodded, then looked up at Robbins. Robbins shook his head. "I'll continue with the autopsy."
"I'll go with you, Catherine," Nick said, already stripping off his gloves.
Catherine held up a hand. "You can't. You know they're going to want Grissom interviewed. He is the only relative she has."
Nick shook his head. "Catherine…I…I can't interrogate Gris on this." He looked up at Catherine pleadingly. "I can't do that to him…"
Catherine glanced down at the floor for a moment. "I know. That's why we're bringing in someone from dayshift, someone who doesn't know Grissom, except by reputation. That way, she can't play favorites, as Ecklie is calling it."
Nick's frown deepened. "You brought in someone from days? Why?"
"I told you, so we can handle this case objectively. Personally, if I caught the murderer, I'd kill him. So we need someone who's not personally connected to Grissom, as a friend or subordinate, to help us out with the case." She put a hand on his shoulder. "It's still our case. She'll just be doing the questioning."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The man sat nervously at the table, tapping his feet on the floor. He glanced up at Catherine, but she refused to look up at him. Finally, the door opened, and Jim Brass stepped in. He looked unusually grave, but nodded to Catherine and took a seat.
"Alright," he said, signally that she could proceed with the interrogation.
Catherine leaned forward, glancing at a file. "Mr. Roberts, you are the manager of the Lucky Eight hotel, is that correct?"
He tilted his head irritably. "Yeah. So what?"
"Could you tell us what happened tonight?"
He sighed. "The old lady checked in at about six yesterday. She didn't speak to me, or anything. Just gave me a credit card and held up a finger. So I assumed she wanted one room, so I gave it to her. Well, about seven this morning I get a call from a customer, saying there's a bunch of noise in the room a few doors down. The old lady's room. So I called her room, she picked it up, said everything was fine. Well, check-out time is five o'clock." He smiled, noticing Catherine's raised eyebrow. "We get some customers in there who…like to sleep late, ya know?"
Catherine shook her head. "Yeah, I know. Go on. Woman checked in yesterday afternoon, got a complaint this morning, woman missed check-out time."
The man shrugged. "Well, a lot of people who pre-pay leave without letting me know. So about six I went to go make sure she was out of there before letting the maid in. That's when I found her."
"Was she dead?"
"Yeah. She was dead. I didn't touch her, I just looked, freaked out, then called the cops."
Catherine glanced at the paper again. "So, when you got the complaint, all you did was call the hotel room?"
He shrugged again. "Yeah. I get lots of people in here who make lots of noise."
"Was there anyone who went into Mrs.Grissom's room that morning or night that you are aware of?"
"No. She left at about two hours after checking in, came back an hour later."
Brass raised an eyebrow. "You keep this close a watch on all of your customers?"
Roberts shook his head. "I just noticed, okay?" He sighed. "Look, I ain't done nothin'. I just found the old lady. Can I go now?"
Brass and Catherine exchanged glances. Then Brass nodded. "Yeah, you can go. But we'll be in touch."
They watched as the man sauntered out, looking very pissed. Catherine shook her head. "Didn't get very far, did we?"
Brass shook his head. "Further than we were. But, considering that we were nowhere, that isn't saying much."
"Well, we have a time frame. Today is Thursday. Mrs. Grissom checked into the hotel Wednesday at six. At about eight she leaves, comes back at about nine. Thursday morning, about seven, manager gets a call about some disturbances in her room. Calls her room, gets an answer that everything's okay. Then, at six this afternoon, he goes to see if she left, finds the body." She tapped her pencil on the table. "So, some time between nine last night and six this afternoon," she put her hands on her temples, "someone brutally attacked and killed her. Probably during the commotion this morning."