Thanks for all your positive reviews! I'm several chapters in and I like to think that you'll enjoy the rest - - but I can't promise anything in regards to what happens to Greg and the investigation. Know that his father, however, first appears in chapter six.

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Chapter Three: Debriefing

"Tell me," he said to Catherine. The two of them strolled under the yellow tape and into the dusky atmosphere of Boardwalk Avenue. The whole place was low-rent, almost sleazy. He mentally thanked Brass for sealing off the entire road, instead of just the alley where Greg had been found.

She was holding several plastic bags in her hand, and held them up for display. "Brown glass. Pieces of it were all over the alley. I'm thinking . . . beer bottle?"

"I couldn't find any cuts on him, just bruising."

"Well, there was blood around some of the edges. I'll send them to the lab for testing." She resumed her walk, stride brisk. Grissom could measure how upset she was by how tightly her lips were pressed together during the pauses. Right now, they were so white from pressure as to be bloodless. "Nick found gunpowder residue on the wall above Greg's marker."

"Did you get a sample?"

Catherine rummaged through her plastic-sealed collection and separated one from the folds. "Way ahead of you, Gil. But here's the weird part - - the residue? There were flecks of white paint mixed in. Like someone loaded a paintball gun with a bullet."

"That's your theory?"

"That's my analogy. I don't have a theory yet."

"What else can you give me?" He gave a stiff nod to the officer, lifting the badge on the front of his shirt so he wouldn't have to introduce himself. "Any other evidence, any eyewitnesses?"

"You don't like eyewitnesses."

"I'll take whatever I can get."

"Then, in that case, talk to Sara and Warrick." The alley was double- taped, and Catherine lifted up that and held it for him as he stepped under. "They were interviewing the locals, and last night's bartender - - Chris Mason, over at Body Shots. He gave a positive ID to Greg, too."

Sometimes nothing was more beautiful than a crime scene. Grissom approached it reverently, hoping for easy mysteries and puzzles with no missing pieces. He wasn't hoping for a challenge this time. The simpler, the quicker, and the quicker, the better for Greg and his own sore feelings. He fell quiet as his eyes scanned the gunpowder stain on the discolored brick wall, the yellow chalk outline of, roughly, where Greg had been found, and the series of markers set over brown pieces of glass.

Catherine's hand fell on his elbow. "Tell me you have some good news, too." Her gaze was intense and sharp, evaluating his expression before he could even give her an answer. "You saw him at the hospital, right? How did it look?"

The words came out sounding far more brutal than he had intended. "Someone beat the hell out of him before they brought out the gun. Bruise on his chest looks like a boot-print, and it's hard to see his face under all the bruises."

"Tell me," she echoed. "Everything."

"Kicked. Hit. Shot in the head. If the bullet hadn't flexed - - if there hadn't been a miracle - - we'd be investigating a homicide." His smile was predatory as he told her the good news: "He came through for us, though. Practically peeled a whole layer of skin off whoever attacked him. I've got epithelial cells under his fingernails, and half of them are bloody, for good measure."

Her smile mirrored his own. "I hope it hurt."

"I ran the sexual assault kit."

"Oh God."

"Negative for semen and blood." The relief was palatable in his voice. "That's the other good news. I'm having the lab run the foreign matter test on the third swab, but I think it'll test clear."

Catherine sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I don't know what I'd be thinking if you'd said those came back positive."

"I don't know what I would have done if they came back positive and I found whoever did it," he said honestly. "I'm still not sure how this is going to play out."

"You're not thinking of handing it over to Ecklie, are you?"

"Never. He's staying away from it, too. Hasn't paged me with a request all morning, and he knows about it by now, too. Everyone does. If he has any sense, he won't say a word. I'm not in the mood to argue politics with him." He saw Warrick and Sara talking at the other end of the alley, silhouetted in the sharp yellow sun, and it suddenly occurred to him how rarely he saw his own team in sunlight. The days had been for sleeping, lately. Catherine looked ready to pull on her gloves again and start the measurements on the wall, but he stopped her with a hand.

"Did you call his parents?"

"Sara took care of it. Quite a story." Catherine's steely blue eyes had a glint of emotion that he couldn't quite read, torn between anger and pity. She gave him a small push. "Go."

Obediently, he went. They saw him coming, and Sara involuntarily pressed a hand to her mouth and lowered her head, her voice raspy as she asked him how Greg was. He gave her a gentle but thorough version of the truth, making sure to tell her the negative rape results. Warrick touched her shoulder in an unusual gesture of tenderness.

"Good. That's good," Warrick said, his voice weak with relief.

"Catherine said you were interviewing the locals."

Sara wiped aimlessly at her eye. "Yeah. We found the bartender who served Greg last night—he seems willing enough to talk. He's with O'Reilly right now, waiting for us. Chris Mason."

"But he's not an actual witness to the crime?"

"No, but he's helpful. Says there was a girl with Greg last night, too." Sara nodded to accompany Warrick's explanation. "He's helpful enough, but not much for description - - said she was a platinum blonde, pretty and slim, with a little bit of New York in her voice."

"Thanks, Warrick. Sara? Catherine said you called Greg's parents."

Sara's expression darkened. "Yeah, I did. Took me a while, though. I called the number in Greg's file, right? And we all update those monthly, and he's always right on time with his. I called, and asked for either Nathan or Miranda Sanders, but the poor woman didn't who I was talking about."

"Did you have the right number?"

"Right number. Wrong time. Greg's parents moved out six months ago." She shook her head. "I checked his past records - - he had no idea. Same address, same phone number on all of them. Which means that Greg hasn't even spoken to them for over half a year."

"But you did get them."

"When she remembered, the lady called back with their forwarding address and phone number. Los Angeles. I talked to the father." She adjusted her sunglasses, pushing them further up the bridge of her nose. "It was kind of weird."

"How so?"

Sara's tone was blunt. "He didn't ask how Greg was hurt."

"Shock, maybe?" Grissom suggested, setting a pace for O'Reilly and the dark- haired young man beside him who must have been Chris Mason. Sara and Warrick trailed behind him. "Parental feelings aren't always logical."

"Oh, he seemed logical," Sara said dryly. "He said he would get here 'fairly soon,' and that Greg's mom, Miranda, was shopping in Florida, and he wouldn't want to bother her with the news."

Grissom turned to face her. "He wouldn't want to 'bother' her?" he said incredulously. "Isn't Greg an only child?" At Sara's scowl and nod, his own frown deepened. "I hope you didn't say anything to him."

"I said," Sara replied, her voice prim, "that I was sorry I had to 'bother' him. Don't worry, I don't think he even heard the sarcasm."