CHAPTER FOUR (Strong R)
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Catherine stepped out of the Tahoe, slamming the door shut forcibly; if she couldn't take her frustrations out on a certain supervisor, then an inanimate object would certainly do the trick.
"Catherine." Gil jogged up to reach her.
Catherine turned around abruptly. "What?!" She all but growled. "Whatever you have to say, it's too late to -"
"- you forgot your kit." He interrupted her rant a little too sweetly, resulting in a yearned for glare that sent pleasant shivers down his spine.
Catherine grumbled under her breath, swiping the kit from his hands. She desperately tried to ignore the heat that coursed through her veins when her skin briefly latched on to his, during the exchange; fighting to keep the repercussive thoughts from their sex-driven encounter in his office. «Sex in the boss's office.» She scoffed at the cliché and then a small smirk broke out. «But damn it was good...»
Gil and Catherine stepped into the Can-Can room, greeted by the smell of sex and smoke, wandering around in search for the famed Sasha. Stopping near the changing rooms, they questioned a woman about their suspect's whereabouts and came up empty handed.
"This is hopeless!" Catherine exclaimed. "What if she's on the run?" She leaned against the wall.
Gil observed her, then averted his eyes: the thought of never being able taste heaven again was inflicting a stabbing pain to his heart. His phone rang, and he turned away from her. "Grissom," he more than sighed. After a few moments and a curt word of thanks, he hung up and turned to Catherine. "Well, two things: the first is that the doc observed a weird rash on the DB's hands."
"Does he know what it is?" Catherine asked, still leaning against the wall, her head pressed back against the tacky heart-infested wallpaper.
"No, he ran some tests and is waiting for the results." Gil rested his right arm against the wall, close enough to smell her distinct aroma. He allowed her smell to taunt him, caress his nostrils and indulge his senses. He slowly opened his eyes - her awaiting silence dragging him back to reality. "Seems like Doc Robbins also found the cause of death." Gil paused, leaning against the wall beside her. "He found minute traces of cyanide along the walls of his esophagus and near his heart as well."
"Cyanide?" Catherine's eyes went wide. "How the hell did he get cyanide in his system?"
"Simple, my dear . . ." Gil paused at the slip, and looked down on the floor, embarrassed. "He, uh, ingested it." Gil's brow furrowed.
"How? You just don't pick up a bottle of poison and yell bottom's up!" Catherine remarked sarcastically.
He shrugged. "My guess," he pointed towards a shadow slowly approaching them, "she'll be able to help us."
Catherine stepped up, meeting the woman half-way down the hall. "Miss Lover." She extended her hand. "Catherine Willows - we met before. I was just wondering if I could ask you a few more questions?"
Sasha eyed both CSIs, her eyes trailing up and down Gil's body. "Sure." She kept her gaze focussed on him, until Catherine stepped in between, interrupting her line of view. "C'mon in." She unlocked her door and went inside.
Catherine followed, Gil not far behind. They watched as the dancer began the complex task of make-up removal, involving the presence of some harsh chemicals, creams and soaps. "So, is it true that filming private as well as the public dances is illegal here?"
Sasha glanced at Catherine. "Yeah . . ."
Catherine nodded, and smile coyly. "I mean, it's pretty serious - you could lose your job, even face incarceration."
"Okay . . . and your point?"
Catherine shrugged, "no reason." She eyed Gil who was busy observing his surroundings.
Gil's eyes caught hold the small wicker basket in the corner of the room. "Do you mind?" He asked permission. When Sasha granted him access with a dismissive wave, he bent down and spied an empty box. "You should really recycle." He commented, lifting up a box of saran wrap.
***
Gil sat in the interrogation room, his eyes dancing to the door ever so often, waiting for his 'Venus' to enter. He dropped a piece of saran wrap encased in a clear pouch, on the table. "Care to explain?" Gil asked politely.
Sasha shrugged. "What?" She toyed with the edge of the bag. "I had a sandwich - is that a crime?"
"Depends on the calories, I guess." Jim replied with a sarcastic grunt.
"There were traces of cyanide on this piece of saran wrap." Gil cocked his head to the side, observing her reaction. "Zachary Garber had lethal amounts of cyanide in his system, which after being ingested, ultimately affected his heart, resulting in death."
The exotic dancer remained quiet, eyes on the table.
"So here's *your* problem: we have a murder, and you have the weapon." Jim waved the evidence in her face.
"Captain Brass?" Jim looked up to see a young detective standing at the door, hand clutching the knob out of sheer nervousness. "I - I'm sorry to disturb you but you said -" He stuttered slightly, then silenced by Jim's approach.
They both stepped out, leaving Gil to deal with the suspect. Gil leaned on the table, his eyes narrowing at her chest. "Remember that day when we swabbed your chest?" He waited for Sasha's acknowledged nod. "Well, we got the results back." Gil opened his folder, and placed a paper in front of her. "Sweat, saliva - Zachary Garber's, soap, almond oil and cyanide." He walked over to her, and bent down in front of her. "May I see your breasts?" He tried to remain professional, but he knew his uneasiness was easily spotted.
"Sure, Mr. Grissom." Sasha didn't bother to hide her attraction to the CSI supervisor, as she unabashedly began to remove her top, letting it drop on the table. She got up and directed Gil back to his chair, administering weight to his chest, forcing him to sit down. Next, she slid the straps of her bra off, letting it slide down to her lap. Sticking her chest out, she never took her eyes off the man she felt drawn to. She stood between his open legs, her knee brushing his groin ever so often. She bent down at the waist slightly, her mouth inching towards his ear, "this close enough, Mr. Scientist?"
Gil swallowed hard and took out his magnifying glass. Placing a hand on her pleathered thigh, he leaned close to her. He could smell her scent and it didn't affect his heart-beat in any way: it was still beating an awkward rhythm, complementing his uncomfortable position. He cleared his throat, trying to concentrate on her as a subject and not a pair of breasts thrust in front of him. His thoughts meandered briefly to Catherine, and he felt his lower regions jump. Praying that Sasha wouldn't get the wrong impression, he reached inside his pocket and retrieved a swab. He was about to swab her when the door flew open.
"What the hell is your problem?!"
Gil glanced around the dancer to meet the fury-fed eyes of Catherine Willows. He watched her form approach at an intense speed, and didn't even have time to register her motives, for in the next moment, stars sparkled behind closed eyes. He put his hand to his cheek glancing at her, surprise and disbelief etched in his boyish features. He glanced at Sasha who was just finishing putting on her straps. "I ... uh, I still need a swab of that rash, Miss Lover." He babbled a dazed phrase. He clenched his jaw, still feeling a dull sting - the meaning behind the slap more painful than the execution of it. After swabbing her chest, he sat back down on the chair, and glanced at Catherine, who had wandered to the other side of the room, facing the one-way mirror.
"Why him? Why Zachary Garber?" Catherine asked, watching Gil through the reflective surface. She rubbed her hand up and down her forearm, trying to get the sharp pain to dissipate.
Sasha shrugged. "I think I should get a lawyer."
Gil sighed, leaning back in the chair, as he nodded towards the guard. Watching Sasha exit the room, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"What I don't understand is how she knew that it was cyanide and not almond oil." Catherine commented more than asked, trying to regain a professional attitude in the workplace.
"What do you mean?" Gil asked, daring a look in her direction.
"Well, she wrapped saran wrap around her torso - and made Zachary apply the almond oil on her body -"
" - which accounts for that weird rash on his hands." Gil interrupted.
"Yeah, but how did she know he was going to bring it; we saw her remove it from his bag." Catherine finished.
Both CSIs sat in silence, pondering Catherine's observations.
"Just had a talk with one of my detectives." Jim muttered, upon entering the room. "Good guy - just too nervous." He shook his head. "So, what happened to Lover girl?" He sat down in Sasha's place, in front of both CSIs.
"Went to get a lawyer . . ." Gil trailed off.
"Well, we might want to put her on ice for awhile." Jim said, gaining their attention. "The fiancee, we just did a little check on her, and she just made a two hundred thousand deposit." He wiggled his eyebrows.
"But that couldn't be life insurance - they weren't married yet." Catherine stated, confused.
"Cash."
"Aah...maybe someone didn't believe in the bank system?" Gil offered.
"Care to have a chat with the 'bride-to-was'?" Jim asked, followed by the two grinning CSIs.
***
Jim and Catherine pulled up to the large mansion-like house. "200 hundred grand . . ." Catherine shook her head, eyeing the lavish home. They knocked on the door, observing the petite blonde who let them in.
"Jenna Garber - er, I mean, Micheals." She giggled nervously, extending her hand, in introduction. "It's so hard to believe that he's gone." She sighed, sitting down on the white couch in the living room.
"Did you know of Zachary's bachelor party?" Jim asked.
Jenna shrugged. "There was mention, some of his buddies were taking him out." She toyed with her diamond engagement ring.
The shrill ring of Catherine's cell interrupted the awkward silence, "hello?" She stepped into the kitchen, her eyes travelling the lush decor. "Gil." She paused and looked out into the sitting room. "Reeeeaaallly?" She grinned. "Thanks." She hung up, her ears buzzing from hearing his rich tenor voice. She stepped back into the lounge and sat beside Jim, waiting for Jenna to finish an anecdote describing her week.
"Catherine?" Jim asked, noting her Cheshire smile.
"Miss Micheals, do you know a Sasha Lover?" Catherine asked, already knowing the answer.
Jenna smiled politely, shaking her head. "Never heard of her."
Catherine stood confidently in front of the seated Jenna Micheals. "Well, I beg to differ." She retorted, playfully. «This is going to be fun!»
–TBC--
--------
Catherine stepped out of the Tahoe, slamming the door shut forcibly; if she couldn't take her frustrations out on a certain supervisor, then an inanimate object would certainly do the trick.
"Catherine." Gil jogged up to reach her.
Catherine turned around abruptly. "What?!" She all but growled. "Whatever you have to say, it's too late to -"
"- you forgot your kit." He interrupted her rant a little too sweetly, resulting in a yearned for glare that sent pleasant shivers down his spine.
Catherine grumbled under her breath, swiping the kit from his hands. She desperately tried to ignore the heat that coursed through her veins when her skin briefly latched on to his, during the exchange; fighting to keep the repercussive thoughts from their sex-driven encounter in his office. «Sex in the boss's office.» She scoffed at the cliché and then a small smirk broke out. «But damn it was good...»
Gil and Catherine stepped into the Can-Can room, greeted by the smell of sex and smoke, wandering around in search for the famed Sasha. Stopping near the changing rooms, they questioned a woman about their suspect's whereabouts and came up empty handed.
"This is hopeless!" Catherine exclaimed. "What if she's on the run?" She leaned against the wall.
Gil observed her, then averted his eyes: the thought of never being able taste heaven again was inflicting a stabbing pain to his heart. His phone rang, and he turned away from her. "Grissom," he more than sighed. After a few moments and a curt word of thanks, he hung up and turned to Catherine. "Well, two things: the first is that the doc observed a weird rash on the DB's hands."
"Does he know what it is?" Catherine asked, still leaning against the wall, her head pressed back against the tacky heart-infested wallpaper.
"No, he ran some tests and is waiting for the results." Gil rested his right arm against the wall, close enough to smell her distinct aroma. He allowed her smell to taunt him, caress his nostrils and indulge his senses. He slowly opened his eyes - her awaiting silence dragging him back to reality. "Seems like Doc Robbins also found the cause of death." Gil paused, leaning against the wall beside her. "He found minute traces of cyanide along the walls of his esophagus and near his heart as well."
"Cyanide?" Catherine's eyes went wide. "How the hell did he get cyanide in his system?"
"Simple, my dear . . ." Gil paused at the slip, and looked down on the floor, embarrassed. "He, uh, ingested it." Gil's brow furrowed.
"How? You just don't pick up a bottle of poison and yell bottom's up!" Catherine remarked sarcastically.
He shrugged. "My guess," he pointed towards a shadow slowly approaching them, "she'll be able to help us."
Catherine stepped up, meeting the woman half-way down the hall. "Miss Lover." She extended her hand. "Catherine Willows - we met before. I was just wondering if I could ask you a few more questions?"
Sasha eyed both CSIs, her eyes trailing up and down Gil's body. "Sure." She kept her gaze focussed on him, until Catherine stepped in between, interrupting her line of view. "C'mon in." She unlocked her door and went inside.
Catherine followed, Gil not far behind. They watched as the dancer began the complex task of make-up removal, involving the presence of some harsh chemicals, creams and soaps. "So, is it true that filming private as well as the public dances is illegal here?"
Sasha glanced at Catherine. "Yeah . . ."
Catherine nodded, and smile coyly. "I mean, it's pretty serious - you could lose your job, even face incarceration."
"Okay . . . and your point?"
Catherine shrugged, "no reason." She eyed Gil who was busy observing his surroundings.
Gil's eyes caught hold the small wicker basket in the corner of the room. "Do you mind?" He asked permission. When Sasha granted him access with a dismissive wave, he bent down and spied an empty box. "You should really recycle." He commented, lifting up a box of saran wrap.
***
Gil sat in the interrogation room, his eyes dancing to the door ever so often, waiting for his 'Venus' to enter. He dropped a piece of saran wrap encased in a clear pouch, on the table. "Care to explain?" Gil asked politely.
Sasha shrugged. "What?" She toyed with the edge of the bag. "I had a sandwich - is that a crime?"
"Depends on the calories, I guess." Jim replied with a sarcastic grunt.
"There were traces of cyanide on this piece of saran wrap." Gil cocked his head to the side, observing her reaction. "Zachary Garber had lethal amounts of cyanide in his system, which after being ingested, ultimately affected his heart, resulting in death."
The exotic dancer remained quiet, eyes on the table.
"So here's *your* problem: we have a murder, and you have the weapon." Jim waved the evidence in her face.
"Captain Brass?" Jim looked up to see a young detective standing at the door, hand clutching the knob out of sheer nervousness. "I - I'm sorry to disturb you but you said -" He stuttered slightly, then silenced by Jim's approach.
They both stepped out, leaving Gil to deal with the suspect. Gil leaned on the table, his eyes narrowing at her chest. "Remember that day when we swabbed your chest?" He waited for Sasha's acknowledged nod. "Well, we got the results back." Gil opened his folder, and placed a paper in front of her. "Sweat, saliva - Zachary Garber's, soap, almond oil and cyanide." He walked over to her, and bent down in front of her. "May I see your breasts?" He tried to remain professional, but he knew his uneasiness was easily spotted.
"Sure, Mr. Grissom." Sasha didn't bother to hide her attraction to the CSI supervisor, as she unabashedly began to remove her top, letting it drop on the table. She got up and directed Gil back to his chair, administering weight to his chest, forcing him to sit down. Next, she slid the straps of her bra off, letting it slide down to her lap. Sticking her chest out, she never took her eyes off the man she felt drawn to. She stood between his open legs, her knee brushing his groin ever so often. She bent down at the waist slightly, her mouth inching towards his ear, "this close enough, Mr. Scientist?"
Gil swallowed hard and took out his magnifying glass. Placing a hand on her pleathered thigh, he leaned close to her. He could smell her scent and it didn't affect his heart-beat in any way: it was still beating an awkward rhythm, complementing his uncomfortable position. He cleared his throat, trying to concentrate on her as a subject and not a pair of breasts thrust in front of him. His thoughts meandered briefly to Catherine, and he felt his lower regions jump. Praying that Sasha wouldn't get the wrong impression, he reached inside his pocket and retrieved a swab. He was about to swab her when the door flew open.
"What the hell is your problem?!"
Gil glanced around the dancer to meet the fury-fed eyes of Catherine Willows. He watched her form approach at an intense speed, and didn't even have time to register her motives, for in the next moment, stars sparkled behind closed eyes. He put his hand to his cheek glancing at her, surprise and disbelief etched in his boyish features. He glanced at Sasha who was just finishing putting on her straps. "I ... uh, I still need a swab of that rash, Miss Lover." He babbled a dazed phrase. He clenched his jaw, still feeling a dull sting - the meaning behind the slap more painful than the execution of it. After swabbing her chest, he sat back down on the chair, and glanced at Catherine, who had wandered to the other side of the room, facing the one-way mirror.
"Why him? Why Zachary Garber?" Catherine asked, watching Gil through the reflective surface. She rubbed her hand up and down her forearm, trying to get the sharp pain to dissipate.
Sasha shrugged. "I think I should get a lawyer."
Gil sighed, leaning back in the chair, as he nodded towards the guard. Watching Sasha exit the room, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"What I don't understand is how she knew that it was cyanide and not almond oil." Catherine commented more than asked, trying to regain a professional attitude in the workplace.
"What do you mean?" Gil asked, daring a look in her direction.
"Well, she wrapped saran wrap around her torso - and made Zachary apply the almond oil on her body -"
" - which accounts for that weird rash on his hands." Gil interrupted.
"Yeah, but how did she know he was going to bring it; we saw her remove it from his bag." Catherine finished.
Both CSIs sat in silence, pondering Catherine's observations.
"Just had a talk with one of my detectives." Jim muttered, upon entering the room. "Good guy - just too nervous." He shook his head. "So, what happened to Lover girl?" He sat down in Sasha's place, in front of both CSIs.
"Went to get a lawyer . . ." Gil trailed off.
"Well, we might want to put her on ice for awhile." Jim said, gaining their attention. "The fiancee, we just did a little check on her, and she just made a two hundred thousand deposit." He wiggled his eyebrows.
"But that couldn't be life insurance - they weren't married yet." Catherine stated, confused.
"Cash."
"Aah...maybe someone didn't believe in the bank system?" Gil offered.
"Care to have a chat with the 'bride-to-was'?" Jim asked, followed by the two grinning CSIs.
***
Jim and Catherine pulled up to the large mansion-like house. "200 hundred grand . . ." Catherine shook her head, eyeing the lavish home. They knocked on the door, observing the petite blonde who let them in.
"Jenna Garber - er, I mean, Micheals." She giggled nervously, extending her hand, in introduction. "It's so hard to believe that he's gone." She sighed, sitting down on the white couch in the living room.
"Did you know of Zachary's bachelor party?" Jim asked.
Jenna shrugged. "There was mention, some of his buddies were taking him out." She toyed with her diamond engagement ring.
The shrill ring of Catherine's cell interrupted the awkward silence, "hello?" She stepped into the kitchen, her eyes travelling the lush decor. "Gil." She paused and looked out into the sitting room. "Reeeeaaallly?" She grinned. "Thanks." She hung up, her ears buzzing from hearing his rich tenor voice. She stepped back into the lounge and sat beside Jim, waiting for Jenna to finish an anecdote describing her week.
"Catherine?" Jim asked, noting her Cheshire smile.
"Miss Micheals, do you know a Sasha Lover?" Catherine asked, already knowing the answer.
Jenna smiled politely, shaking her head. "Never heard of her."
Catherine stood confidently in front of the seated Jenna Micheals. "Well, I beg to differ." She retorted, playfully. «This is going to be fun!»
–TBC--