Blind Revenge
By: Manda and Allison
A/N: Here's chapter six for you all. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews so far. The feedback really fuels our desire to write other things for you all. It also makes writing things for classes all that much easier, but that's another story. Here's to one day printing this out and waving it at my English professor.
Chapter 6: Orders from Above
~*~*~*~
The suspects name was Thomas Gribbs, and at first glance, the young man sitting across from Warrick hardly looked the part of someone trying to off a CSI. In fact, with his bright blue eyes partially concealed by the shaggy blonde hair hanging in front of his face, he looked more the part of surfer, out of place in the dry Nevadan desert. He seemed too young, too innocent to be capable of committing a crime.
But here he was, right in front of Grissom's eyes.
For a moment Grissom was struck by the last name, his thoughts flying to the first day he'd met another Gribbs- Holly, not related to this suspect at all, but taken out at the hand of a young punk refusing to submit to the law and leave well enough alone. The thought sobered the man further, as he realized that if this were their man, he would have been responsible for the death of another one of his CSI's, had they not apprehended him.
Funny, how that worked.
The two-way mirror separating the interrogation room from the observation area prevented him from actually questioning the suspect, but Grissom found himself studying the face carefully, looking for any signs of possible guilt, remorse...anything indicating he may have done the deed responsible for Catherine's incarceration in the hospital. But he saw nothing- and hoped that once Brass and Warrick began questioning, something would emerge.
The young, lanky CSI began first, eyeing the suspect up and down, Brass on his tail. The contrast was always amusing to Grissom- Warrick seeming more likely to be capable of taking out a suspect than the shorter; suit-and-tie clad Jim Brass. But the balance between generations made them an interesting interrogation team, and Grissom leaned closer to the glass, prepared to catch every word between the three men.
"Thomas Gribbs." Brass slipped into an uncomfortable metal chair at the shiny table, while Warrick chose to lean casually back in his chair, watching silently.
"Yeah. I need a lawyer?" Gribbs was calm, pulling a toothpick from his shirt pocket and popping it languidly between his teeth, gnawing slowly upon the thin wood.
"Now, why would you ask that?"
"You're a cop. Everyone knows you need a lawyer when a cop brings you in for questions." It was clear this man based all of his facts on 'cop shows', and Brass suppressed a chuckle at the offered knowledge. "So do I need a lawyer?"
"Depends, do you sell ecstasy?" Brass asked, folding his arms across his chest.
"What's it to you?"
"Nope, you're not talking...I think you'll do just fine without a lawyer."
"What he's asking, bro- is whether or not you've been dealing. It's a yes or no question." Warrick reached into his pocket and withdrew the pill bottle retrieved from Catherine's apartment, tossing the baggie in which it was ensconced across the table to land before their suspect. "We've got your prints on this bottle- and we know you work in this pharmacy. There are also traces of ecstasy on the inside."
"Hell, no. I've been clean for a year- check with my caseworker. Drug rehab- I get regular piss-exams every week, 'yo, and I've been cleared. Want a sample?"
"No, that'll be fine." Brass scribbled onto his notepad what Grissom assumed to be a note of checking with the caseworker, and reached to take the pill bottle away. "Can you tell us any reason why this bottle has ecstasy in it, if you weren't using, and yet somehow you're the one who filled this prescription?"
"Who said I filled it? I logged inventory on those bottles, of course my prints are going to be on the bottle. Anybody could have filled that prescription."
"Your supervisor can confirm that?"
"Hell yea he can."
"Can he also confirm that he knew about your past history of drug use, because I find it interesting that anyone would hire a former druggie to work in a pharmacy," Brass smirked. "How bout you Warrick, you find it kind of funny?"
"It's a laugh riot, Brass."
"Hey- these guys don't judge their workers on drug use." Gribbs crossed his arms and regarded the two with narrowed eyes. "My boss keeps in touch with my rehab worker...they know every fucking piece of medicine that passes through my hands."
"And they can sign an avadavat to that effect."
"I told you that, sure."
"Great. We'll want a look at your workstation, too." Brass made another scribble upon the pad, and nodded briskly. "You can go, Mr. Gribbs. Thank you for your time."
Gribbs said nothing; merely rose and headed out the door the second Warrick opened it.
"He was cooperative," grumbled Warrick as he headed out the door.
"Makes you a little wary of who's filling your prescription, if guys like that are able to get a job."
"I hear ya." The pair walked half-heartedly out the door of the interrogation room, displease that their only lead had gone cold. "What do we do now? We chased the prescription bottle angle as far as it's gonna go...we've got nothing left."
"That's where you're wrong," Grissom quipped, joining them as they made their way out into the hall. "You heard what he said, any number of people there could have filled that prescription. We need to talk to the rest of the employees...maybe one of them had some kind of grievance with Catherine, maybe they're tied to one of her cases...there has to be something that we aren't seeing."
"Well, I'll get the warrant from Judge Scouten- he owes me a favor." Brass veered toward the exit to the parking lot, calling over his shoulder to the two CSI's. "Meet you at the pharmacy."
"Warrick- bring the car around." Grissom himself veered away once they hit the next turn, heading for the computer room where he knew Sara Sidle would be hovering over a glowing screen. And she was, staring blankly at a diagram of Catherine's home, scanning in pictures of the discoveries she and Nick had made during their visit.
"Sara?" The fatigued Sidle jolted, spilling a Styrofoam cup of coffee over the front of her lab coat as she swept it off the desk with her elbow, turning at the sound of Grissom's voice. "Sorry."
"Jesus, Grissom." She swiped at the running liquid, a brown stain already widening on her clothing, and sighed. "What?"
"I need you to get a list of employees currently employed at Garfield Pharmaceuticals...and cross-reference it with Catherine's past caseload. Anything Catherine worked on...no matter how insignificant."
"Everything?"
"Everything, no matter how minor. Every homicide, break-in, false alarm, hell check for cats up trees...just get it done, Sara."
"Sure. Just don't keep sneaking up on me like that," she replied, turning back to the computer screen.
"Mmmk."
"Grissom, are you listening to me?"
But he was already gone, and with another deep sigh, Sara turned back to her computer screen, dutifully clicking the mouse button to bring up the interoffice search engine. "Catherine Willows...cases from..."
~*~*~*~
Brass met Grissom and Warrick in the lobby of the Henderson branch of Garfield Pharmacy, waving the warrant like a holy grail.
"Judge Scouten gave it up without a nudge- says Catherine's a friend...and apparently I'm not the only one he owes a favor to." He didn't offer more, and neither Warrick nor Grissom asked, as the trio wove their way through aisles of knee braces and plastic toilets to arrive at the pharmacy counter, Brass in the lead.
"We've got a warrant to see your workstations." He spoke to a young, buxom brunette, whose bored expression mirrored the blasé color of beige in which the entire department was lavishly painted.
"Conrad," the man said, sticking his hand out to greet the three. "Come on, I've been expecting you."
Opening the door that separated the pharmacy from the rest of the store, Mr. Conrad allowed the three to pass through, before shutting it once again.
"The storeroom's back here. This is where everything is inventoried, stocked according to the number you see here on the box." He pointed toward a four-digit code in the upper right hand corner of one of the many boxes.
"We're going to need to take a look at these, make sure nothing else has been tampered with, if that's alright with you, Mr. Conrad," Brass asked politely.
"Sure. Sure. Go right ahead."
Warrick placed his kit upon the floor as Brass stood guard beside the co-operative pharmacist, eyeing the man as if he were a flight risk they hadn't foreseen.
"We're going to need to know when a prescription was first filled, Mr. Conrad...and who was in charge of that and every refill since that period." Warrick turned to the man, wary of Brass's paranoia. "If you could get us that information..."
"Of course." Conrad vanished into a corner, where a cubicle sheltered a small computer workstation, and Warrick's eyes turned to Brass.
"So what is it you wanted to find, Brown?"
"Grissom told me he spoke to the pharmacist earlier- that every box is listed according to birth date, so you're gonna have to tell me when Cath's birthday is."
"And what makes you think I know?" The short detective was a dead end, although Warrick hadn't suspected it, and with a sigh he turned to exit the room. "I'll go find Grissom, he can tell us."
"There's no need." The sound of Grissom's voice turned their heads, and he stepped into the room, heading for an aisle and pulling down a box, the label of which neither Brass nor Warrick was able to read. "Everything about her prescription should be in here."
"Where were you?"
"Out front-talking to one of the workers."
"You, were interviewing one of the employees?" Brass eyed Grissom curiously, wondering what brought on the shift in attitude of his friend. "You usually avoid human interaction at all costs-I'm impressed."
"By what? It was a simple conversation, nothing more. What's so surprising about that?" Grissom snapped angrily, seeing no point in the current conversation. "It was certainly more helpful than this conversation."
"Whatever Gris, it was just odd, is all. No need to bite my head off."
"Then don't ask useless questions." There was no more talk from Grissom, as he donned a pair of gloves and began to delve into the contents of the box, withdrawing file folders of records before unearthing Catherine's own. "Catherine's prescription...was filled for the first time on February 20th, 2003."
"That's not that long ago." Warrick observed, and as Grissom laid the open file upon a table, Mr. Conrad chose that moment to make an appearance once again.
"Exactly thirty-three days, to be exact, Mr. Brown. My records state that Catherine Willow's prescription was filled approximately five times between that date and present. She had authorization for three, according to our original file."
"Three? How'd she manage to-" Warrick stopped short at the distressed look in Grissom's eyes, and averted his question hurriedly. "Do you have the name of the employees that filled those five prescriptions?"
"Not off of the top of my head-but I can find out, if you'll give me a few minutes. We should have a record of them on file here."
"That would be a great help Mr. Conrad."
Gil watched as the owner moved over to one of the computers and sat down in front of it. Immediately a list of name shot onto the screen. "Let me just cross-reference her information with our database here, and see what comes up."
"Thank you, Sir. We appreciate your assistance." A shrill ring cut through the pharmacy, and with a grimace of apology to Grissom, Brass strode out of the area with cell phone in hand. Warrick and Grissom remained standing behind Conrad as his strangely nimble fingers flew over the keyboard, and in a moment a printout emerged from a nearby laser printer.
"Here you have it, Mr. Grissom." Grissom took the list in hand, and nodded, while Warrick thanked the pharmacist. "Anything I can do to help the Las Vegas police," the man added with a smile. Warrick shook the man's hand and he and Grissom turned to head back out the door.
"Hey Gris, can I talk to you for a sec." Brass pulled him aside as they exited, and Grissom waved Warrick on, signaling that he would meet him back at the Tahoe.
"What do you need, Jim?"
"I've just received a call from our friendly sheriff." At those words, Grissom's expression tightened severely; he never liked calls from the sheriff. "He wants you to take care of Catherine."
It was suddenly very cold, standing in the aisles between the Icy Hot patches and Nicotine gum. Grissom sighed, gesturing for Warrick, who was heading towards them, to head back to the car, while edging Brass out of the center of the aisle.
"What do you mean 'Take care of Catherine', Jim?"
"He wants her fired, Gil. Apparently his mother is in the same hospital for an appendectomy, and he caught wind of a Ms. Willows in room 419, scheduled for drug therapy. Didn't take him long to put two-and-two together."
"If there's one thing Mobley's good at, it's putting heads on the chopping block."
"And this time, he's intent on it being Catherine's." Brass stuffed his hands into his suit pockets and walked off towards his state issued vehicle without another word. Grissom suppressed the urge to go after him and demand more answers. More answers that he knew Brass probably didn't have.
'Don't shoot the messenger," he thought to himself. He'd taken on Mobley before, and won, he could do it again. He had too.
Catherine's job depended on it. Not only that-but her reputation, her life did.
TBC.
By: Manda and Allison
A/N: Here's chapter six for you all. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews so far. The feedback really fuels our desire to write other things for you all. It also makes writing things for classes all that much easier, but that's another story. Here's to one day printing this out and waving it at my English professor.
Chapter 6: Orders from Above
~*~*~*~
The suspects name was Thomas Gribbs, and at first glance, the young man sitting across from Warrick hardly looked the part of someone trying to off a CSI. In fact, with his bright blue eyes partially concealed by the shaggy blonde hair hanging in front of his face, he looked more the part of surfer, out of place in the dry Nevadan desert. He seemed too young, too innocent to be capable of committing a crime.
But here he was, right in front of Grissom's eyes.
For a moment Grissom was struck by the last name, his thoughts flying to the first day he'd met another Gribbs- Holly, not related to this suspect at all, but taken out at the hand of a young punk refusing to submit to the law and leave well enough alone. The thought sobered the man further, as he realized that if this were their man, he would have been responsible for the death of another one of his CSI's, had they not apprehended him.
Funny, how that worked.
The two-way mirror separating the interrogation room from the observation area prevented him from actually questioning the suspect, but Grissom found himself studying the face carefully, looking for any signs of possible guilt, remorse...anything indicating he may have done the deed responsible for Catherine's incarceration in the hospital. But he saw nothing- and hoped that once Brass and Warrick began questioning, something would emerge.
The young, lanky CSI began first, eyeing the suspect up and down, Brass on his tail. The contrast was always amusing to Grissom- Warrick seeming more likely to be capable of taking out a suspect than the shorter; suit-and-tie clad Jim Brass. But the balance between generations made them an interesting interrogation team, and Grissom leaned closer to the glass, prepared to catch every word between the three men.
"Thomas Gribbs." Brass slipped into an uncomfortable metal chair at the shiny table, while Warrick chose to lean casually back in his chair, watching silently.
"Yeah. I need a lawyer?" Gribbs was calm, pulling a toothpick from his shirt pocket and popping it languidly between his teeth, gnawing slowly upon the thin wood.
"Now, why would you ask that?"
"You're a cop. Everyone knows you need a lawyer when a cop brings you in for questions." It was clear this man based all of his facts on 'cop shows', and Brass suppressed a chuckle at the offered knowledge. "So do I need a lawyer?"
"Depends, do you sell ecstasy?" Brass asked, folding his arms across his chest.
"What's it to you?"
"Nope, you're not talking...I think you'll do just fine without a lawyer."
"What he's asking, bro- is whether or not you've been dealing. It's a yes or no question." Warrick reached into his pocket and withdrew the pill bottle retrieved from Catherine's apartment, tossing the baggie in which it was ensconced across the table to land before their suspect. "We've got your prints on this bottle- and we know you work in this pharmacy. There are also traces of ecstasy on the inside."
"Hell, no. I've been clean for a year- check with my caseworker. Drug rehab- I get regular piss-exams every week, 'yo, and I've been cleared. Want a sample?"
"No, that'll be fine." Brass scribbled onto his notepad what Grissom assumed to be a note of checking with the caseworker, and reached to take the pill bottle away. "Can you tell us any reason why this bottle has ecstasy in it, if you weren't using, and yet somehow you're the one who filled this prescription?"
"Who said I filled it? I logged inventory on those bottles, of course my prints are going to be on the bottle. Anybody could have filled that prescription."
"Your supervisor can confirm that?"
"Hell yea he can."
"Can he also confirm that he knew about your past history of drug use, because I find it interesting that anyone would hire a former druggie to work in a pharmacy," Brass smirked. "How bout you Warrick, you find it kind of funny?"
"It's a laugh riot, Brass."
"Hey- these guys don't judge their workers on drug use." Gribbs crossed his arms and regarded the two with narrowed eyes. "My boss keeps in touch with my rehab worker...they know every fucking piece of medicine that passes through my hands."
"And they can sign an avadavat to that effect."
"I told you that, sure."
"Great. We'll want a look at your workstation, too." Brass made another scribble upon the pad, and nodded briskly. "You can go, Mr. Gribbs. Thank you for your time."
Gribbs said nothing; merely rose and headed out the door the second Warrick opened it.
"He was cooperative," grumbled Warrick as he headed out the door.
"Makes you a little wary of who's filling your prescription, if guys like that are able to get a job."
"I hear ya." The pair walked half-heartedly out the door of the interrogation room, displease that their only lead had gone cold. "What do we do now? We chased the prescription bottle angle as far as it's gonna go...we've got nothing left."
"That's where you're wrong," Grissom quipped, joining them as they made their way out into the hall. "You heard what he said, any number of people there could have filled that prescription. We need to talk to the rest of the employees...maybe one of them had some kind of grievance with Catherine, maybe they're tied to one of her cases...there has to be something that we aren't seeing."
"Well, I'll get the warrant from Judge Scouten- he owes me a favor." Brass veered toward the exit to the parking lot, calling over his shoulder to the two CSI's. "Meet you at the pharmacy."
"Warrick- bring the car around." Grissom himself veered away once they hit the next turn, heading for the computer room where he knew Sara Sidle would be hovering over a glowing screen. And she was, staring blankly at a diagram of Catherine's home, scanning in pictures of the discoveries she and Nick had made during their visit.
"Sara?" The fatigued Sidle jolted, spilling a Styrofoam cup of coffee over the front of her lab coat as she swept it off the desk with her elbow, turning at the sound of Grissom's voice. "Sorry."
"Jesus, Grissom." She swiped at the running liquid, a brown stain already widening on her clothing, and sighed. "What?"
"I need you to get a list of employees currently employed at Garfield Pharmaceuticals...and cross-reference it with Catherine's past caseload. Anything Catherine worked on...no matter how insignificant."
"Everything?"
"Everything, no matter how minor. Every homicide, break-in, false alarm, hell check for cats up trees...just get it done, Sara."
"Sure. Just don't keep sneaking up on me like that," she replied, turning back to the computer screen.
"Mmmk."
"Grissom, are you listening to me?"
But he was already gone, and with another deep sigh, Sara turned back to her computer screen, dutifully clicking the mouse button to bring up the interoffice search engine. "Catherine Willows...cases from..."
~*~*~*~
Brass met Grissom and Warrick in the lobby of the Henderson branch of Garfield Pharmacy, waving the warrant like a holy grail.
"Judge Scouten gave it up without a nudge- says Catherine's a friend...and apparently I'm not the only one he owes a favor to." He didn't offer more, and neither Warrick nor Grissom asked, as the trio wove their way through aisles of knee braces and plastic toilets to arrive at the pharmacy counter, Brass in the lead.
"We've got a warrant to see your workstations." He spoke to a young, buxom brunette, whose bored expression mirrored the blasé color of beige in which the entire department was lavishly painted.
"Conrad," the man said, sticking his hand out to greet the three. "Come on, I've been expecting you."
Opening the door that separated the pharmacy from the rest of the store, Mr. Conrad allowed the three to pass through, before shutting it once again.
"The storeroom's back here. This is where everything is inventoried, stocked according to the number you see here on the box." He pointed toward a four-digit code in the upper right hand corner of one of the many boxes.
"We're going to need to take a look at these, make sure nothing else has been tampered with, if that's alright with you, Mr. Conrad," Brass asked politely.
"Sure. Sure. Go right ahead."
Warrick placed his kit upon the floor as Brass stood guard beside the co-operative pharmacist, eyeing the man as if he were a flight risk they hadn't foreseen.
"We're going to need to know when a prescription was first filled, Mr. Conrad...and who was in charge of that and every refill since that period." Warrick turned to the man, wary of Brass's paranoia. "If you could get us that information..."
"Of course." Conrad vanished into a corner, where a cubicle sheltered a small computer workstation, and Warrick's eyes turned to Brass.
"So what is it you wanted to find, Brown?"
"Grissom told me he spoke to the pharmacist earlier- that every box is listed according to birth date, so you're gonna have to tell me when Cath's birthday is."
"And what makes you think I know?" The short detective was a dead end, although Warrick hadn't suspected it, and with a sigh he turned to exit the room. "I'll go find Grissom, he can tell us."
"There's no need." The sound of Grissom's voice turned their heads, and he stepped into the room, heading for an aisle and pulling down a box, the label of which neither Brass nor Warrick was able to read. "Everything about her prescription should be in here."
"Where were you?"
"Out front-talking to one of the workers."
"You, were interviewing one of the employees?" Brass eyed Grissom curiously, wondering what brought on the shift in attitude of his friend. "You usually avoid human interaction at all costs-I'm impressed."
"By what? It was a simple conversation, nothing more. What's so surprising about that?" Grissom snapped angrily, seeing no point in the current conversation. "It was certainly more helpful than this conversation."
"Whatever Gris, it was just odd, is all. No need to bite my head off."
"Then don't ask useless questions." There was no more talk from Grissom, as he donned a pair of gloves and began to delve into the contents of the box, withdrawing file folders of records before unearthing Catherine's own. "Catherine's prescription...was filled for the first time on February 20th, 2003."
"That's not that long ago." Warrick observed, and as Grissom laid the open file upon a table, Mr. Conrad chose that moment to make an appearance once again.
"Exactly thirty-three days, to be exact, Mr. Brown. My records state that Catherine Willow's prescription was filled approximately five times between that date and present. She had authorization for three, according to our original file."
"Three? How'd she manage to-" Warrick stopped short at the distressed look in Grissom's eyes, and averted his question hurriedly. "Do you have the name of the employees that filled those five prescriptions?"
"Not off of the top of my head-but I can find out, if you'll give me a few minutes. We should have a record of them on file here."
"That would be a great help Mr. Conrad."
Gil watched as the owner moved over to one of the computers and sat down in front of it. Immediately a list of name shot onto the screen. "Let me just cross-reference her information with our database here, and see what comes up."
"Thank you, Sir. We appreciate your assistance." A shrill ring cut through the pharmacy, and with a grimace of apology to Grissom, Brass strode out of the area with cell phone in hand. Warrick and Grissom remained standing behind Conrad as his strangely nimble fingers flew over the keyboard, and in a moment a printout emerged from a nearby laser printer.
"Here you have it, Mr. Grissom." Grissom took the list in hand, and nodded, while Warrick thanked the pharmacist. "Anything I can do to help the Las Vegas police," the man added with a smile. Warrick shook the man's hand and he and Grissom turned to head back out the door.
"Hey Gris, can I talk to you for a sec." Brass pulled him aside as they exited, and Grissom waved Warrick on, signaling that he would meet him back at the Tahoe.
"What do you need, Jim?"
"I've just received a call from our friendly sheriff." At those words, Grissom's expression tightened severely; he never liked calls from the sheriff. "He wants you to take care of Catherine."
It was suddenly very cold, standing in the aisles between the Icy Hot patches and Nicotine gum. Grissom sighed, gesturing for Warrick, who was heading towards them, to head back to the car, while edging Brass out of the center of the aisle.
"What do you mean 'Take care of Catherine', Jim?"
"He wants her fired, Gil. Apparently his mother is in the same hospital for an appendectomy, and he caught wind of a Ms. Willows in room 419, scheduled for drug therapy. Didn't take him long to put two-and-two together."
"If there's one thing Mobley's good at, it's putting heads on the chopping block."
"And this time, he's intent on it being Catherine's." Brass stuffed his hands into his suit pockets and walked off towards his state issued vehicle without another word. Grissom suppressed the urge to go after him and demand more answers. More answers that he knew Brass probably didn't have.
'Don't shoot the messenger," he thought to himself. He'd taken on Mobley before, and won, he could do it again. He had too.
Catherine's job depended on it. Not only that-but her reputation, her life did.
TBC.