Many thanks once again to Alison (VIgirl) for her wonderful editing.
CHAPTER 4:
See Part 1 for disclaimers:
Catherine drummed her fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. She
couldn't see what the hold-up in the traffic was, but whatever the cause, it had
managed to slow down two lanes of usually fast flowing traffic to a snail's pace
crawl. She regretted her impulse to buy extra food. While she was in the
grocery store, she had though that it would be nice to invite Sara to stay for
lunch. Since Grissom was also coming to collect Sara, there would not be
enough food in the house, so Catherine had picked up a variety of salad items.
Looking at the digital clock on the dashboard, she checked the time against the
watch on her wrist. It was still correct and she realised that Lindsay was going
to be late for school. Rifling through her handbag on the seat beside her,
Catherine pulled out her cell phone and hit the speed dial for home. The phone
rang four times before the answering machine kicked in.
"Sara, will you pick up the phone?" Catherine waited expectantly for the
receiver to be picked up, giving her colleague time to move from wherever she
was in the house.
"I'm caught in traffic. I'm not sure how long it will take, but I've only got a couple
of streets before I can deviate out of this mess and take some back-streets
home. Hopefully I'll be there in ten." Catherine frowned. She had been sure
Sara would pick up during her message, but there was nothing. "Thanks,
Sara. See ya soon."
Catherine's mind began to churn over all the reasons Sara, or for that matter
Lindsey, had not picked up the phone. A gnawing fear began to eat at her
stomach as worrisome scenarios of Lindsey becoming ill or injured somehow
and Sara having to race down to the hospital played through her mind. She
realised deep down inside that she was probably worrying unnecessarily and
the two of them were so engrossed in the television that they hadn't heard the
phone.
She remembered suddenly that Sara had mentioned she had a meeting she
had to go to. But Sara had said the meeting was "later". Catherine had
interpreted it as being either late morning or early afternoon. Sara couldn't
possibly have gone to the meeting and left Lindsey at home alone, could she?
After eight painstakingly long minutes, she was able to turn down a side street
and weave her way through residential streets to her own house.
Catherine parked the car and gave the handbrake a firm tug as she turned off
the engine. She exited the car quickly and walked up the path towards her front
door, the small bag of groceries balanced on her hip.
A drop of blood on the concrete caught her eye and she frowned. She knew
the blood splatter hadn't been there when she left earlier. Her breath caught
in her throat as she bent down to inspect the blood drops; the blood was fresh.
Mouth slightly open, eyes focused intently on the path ahead, Catherine slowly
rose to her feet. More drops of blood trailed towards the house and a single
partial footprint of blood was outlined, leading away from the house towards the
street. Her heart ran cold and her fingers went numb with fear. Her handbag
and shopping bag fell to the ground with a crash, the milk carton exploding on
impact and sending a flood of white, frothy liquid over the path.
Catherine ran to the door and pushed it open, subconsciously noting the
physical damage to the door - several dirty footprints marred its surface and
the safety chain lock had been ripped from its hinges.
"Lindsey!" Catherine dully realised that her voice was screeching, panic quickly
setting in. The hallway and family room bore evidence of a fierce struggle.
Blood splatter marred the cream, single twist-loop carpet in two distinct areas.
Seeing the damage, Catherine ran through the house, searching each room
for her daughter, calling out her name in desperation. Her voice became
hoarse, Lindsey's name died on her lips as she returned to the family room.
She belatedly realised at the end of her fruitless search that not only was her
daughter missing, but so was Sara.
Catherine didn't know what to make of the damage to her house. Questions
flooded her mind; Who had forced their way in? And why? Whose blood was
on the floor? Were Lindsey or Sara injured? Where were they? Catherine felt
overwhelmed and ill with dread.
While still fearful of what had happened, clinical assessment of the scene
around her began to sink in: the patch of wet carpet near the kitchen, a large
blood splatter nearby, her badly dented kettle lying on the floor in the family
room and the blood on the coffee table as well as the floor beside it. And a
piece of paper. Catherine frowned. There hadn't been paper on the table when
she left.
Carefully walking around the scene, Catherine bent down to take a closer look.
It was sitting in the blood. She resisted the urge to pick it up, its appearance
enough to warn her that this was serious. The few cut and pasted words that
she was able to read without picking it up held an ominous warning. 'We ...
daughter... husband pay ... owed or.... conseq...'
Catherine's hands were shaking badly as she raced back towards the front
path where she had dropped her bag. Digging through it, she frantically
searched for her cell phone and hit the speed dial for Grissom.
"Grissom," Grissom answered the phone distractedly, his attention focused on
the orange-kneed tarantula that was walking gently over his hand. He was
slumped back in his seat, enjoying the silent peace that permeated the office
at the end of a busy shift and waiting for sufficient time to elapse before
heading to Catherine's house.
"They've taken her. Gil, they've got her." Catherine held her hand to her
mouth, her lips quivering as her worst fears had come to fruition.
"Catherine...calm down." Catherine's distraught voice caused Grissom to sit
up suddenly, scaring the delicate spider with the sudden motion, its hair
standing on end. Grissom was confused by Catherine's statement. Her voice
was frantic and rushed, the high pitched tone playing havoc with his hearing.
He only caught a few of her words. "What's happened? Who's taken who?"
"Gil, don't tell me to calm down. Lindsey's been kidnapped! There's a note.
It looks like a ransom." Catherine rubbed her forehead, supporting one side of
her face with her hand as full comprehension hit her: the worst fear a mother
could have had just become reality.
"What? Where are you?" His hearing picked up the words perfectly. He hoped
that it wouldn't fade on him now. Catherine needed his full support; she
needed him to be her rock. In all the years he had worked with her, he had
never heard her this upset. Catherine wasn't one for hysterics and he knew
the disappearance of her daughter was affecting her deeply. He felt the loss
acutely as well; the blonde-haired child had claimed a special place in his
heart. Just who had taken her, he didn't know, but he was determined that he
was going to find out. It shook him that a crime that they would usually
investigate had been suffered by one of their own.
"At home." Catherine's voice caught in her throat as the tears filled her eyes,
spilling over and down her face. "Gil, I only went out to pick up some milk... I
got caught in traffic. When I got home both Lindsey and Sara were gone."
"Lindsey and Sara?" Grissom's heart went cold when Catherine mentioned the
second name. He had to take a deep breath to cope with the news. He
closed his eyes and willed himself to stay calm. "Stay where you are. I'm
coming with Nick and Warrick. I'll call Brass in. Catherine, stay outside the
crime scene until I get there. Don't touch a thing. I'll be there straight away."
"It's a bit too late for that," Catherine muttered more to herself than into the
phone as Grissom cut off the call.
Catherine paced outside the house, thinking. The note made reference to
Eddie. She thought about the previous evening's altercation and the begging
for the twenty-five thousand dollars. Eddie had mentioned that something
could happen to him, but he'd never said about a threat to Lindsey. If anything
happened to Lindsey, she'd kill Eddie when she got her hands on him.
Dialling Eddie's home number, Catherine was invited to leave a message on
his answering machine and his cell phone switched immediately to his
messagebank. She paced the driveway, cursing his name along with herself
for even going out and leaving Lindsey and Sara at home.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Grissom placed the phone down in its cradle, his hand resting on top of it as
he tried to control the tidal wave of emotions plaguing him. He stared at the
innocuous phone, the deliverer of the devastating news, knowing that he
needed to call Brass, but unable for that moment to verbalise the reality of the
situation he now was faced with.
"Griss? Everything okay?"
Grissom looked up at Warrick standing in the doorway, his forehead furrowed.
His gaze was settled on the spider that was now walking its way across the
desk.
"No. No, it's not." Grissom said, easily capturing the spider and placing it back
inside its glass house. "I need you and Nick to work a double. Do you know
where he is?"
"I think he's already left. What's the case?"
"Kidnapping. Sara and Lindsey."
"What?" Warrick's head snapped up in shock at the news. "When?"
"Catherine just rang. They've both disappeared from her house this morning -
a ransom note was left behind. I need someone out there straight away, but
I still have to call Brass." Grissom wanted someone to be with Catherine and
Warrick was the exact person he needed.
"I'll call Nick and get out there immediately."
"Wait for Brass and I to arrive before going inside." Grissom didn't specifically
say that he wanted someone with Catherine, but Warrick picked up on his
intent.
"We'll secure the scene."
"Thanks."
Warrick had given him the push he needed to get moving on the case. He
quelled his fears for his CSI and Lindsey and made the call that would definitely
give life to one of the worst cases he had ever investigated in his career. Not
because of its scenario, but because it affected those close to him.
"Brass," Brass answered his cell phone curtly, his surly attitude the result of
a hard night with four homicides, one of which Sheriff Mobley was riding him
hard to get a result on.
"Jim, I've got a double kidnapping." Grissom kept his tone even, not allowing
his voice to betray the deepset worry that tormented him.
"Since when have you been getting the low down on crime."
"Since the victims are Sara Sidle and Lindsey Willows."
"Catherine's kid?"
"Yes. Can you get over to Catherine's place - 21B Cyprus Drive? We need to
get there while the evidence is fresh. There's a ransom note."
"Heading there right now."
"Thanks."
Grissom collected his fully prepared field kit and went to collect the ALS,
electrostatic lifter and the 'nose'. This case was going to utilise the entire
range of the CSI labs equipment. As he passed the DNA lab, he heard Greg's
punk rock music pounding out its beat. Grissom didn't even bother saying a
word until he had switched off the pulsating music, the young man dancing to
the tune while capably attending to the more mundane tasks involved in his job.
Greg stopped mid-turn, his mouth frozen part way through the song as he took
stock of his boss' ashen expression.
"Greg, how's your course going?"
"Great," Greg answered, surprised. Of all the questions that Grissom could
have asked, this was one of the last on his list.
"How would you like to practice your new skills?" Grissom realised that they
would need another pair of hands and ever since they had investigated the
multiple fatality bus crash last year, Greg had wanted to increase his skills in
other areas so that he could assist in major cases where the graveyard shift
needed extra assistance.
"At a real crime scene?" Greg couldn't believe his luck; an opportunity to get
out of the lab and do some real CSI work.
"Yes. We're short two CSIs."
"Why?" Greg frowned. Being short one was not uncommon, but two CSIs
was highly unusual. Then again, it looked like Grissom's crew was working a
double.
"We've got a double kidnapping. Lindsey Willows and Sara."
"Our Sara?" Greg felt as if he had been kicked in his gut.
"Yes."
Now Greg understood the ashen expression on Grissom's face. Right now,
Greg knew that his own face probably reflected the same distress.
"C'mmon Greg, you're with me."
Greg didn't ask any further questions, but followed his curly-haired boss down
the hallway to the garage.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Grissom parked the Tahoe out in the street, just outside the yellow crime
scene tape harnessing the driveway to Catherine's house. The sight sent a
chill down his spine.
Normally he allowed the other CSIs to drive him to a crime scene, but he didn't
quite possess the same faith and trust in Greg. Grissom wasn't sure if it was
related to the incidents where he'd caught Greg dressed up in some very
interesting hair accessories, dancing to the pulsating music vibrating through
his lab or limited to the fact that he'd never been subjected to Greg's driving
outside the lab.
They hopped out of the Tahoe and went to the back of the vehicle. Greg
reached in to take out the ALS.
"Leave the other equipment here for the moment," Grissom said, shaking his
head. He handed Greg a field kit. "We'll just take our field kits to start off with."
Grissom ducked under the yellow tape and Greg followed closely on his heels.
He was unsure of what he had to do and wanted to only please the man whom
he respected, but who at the same time brought all his insecurities to the
surface. The fact that this crime involved Sara and Lindsey had silenced
Greg's usual expositions.
From the moment Grissom had arrived, he had been assessing the scene.
Each detail etched itself in his mind's eye and created the basis on which he
would expand as the evidence was processed. A cigarette butt tossed into the
garden bed alongside the driveway caught his attention. It could be nothing; it
could be vital.
"Nick!" Grissom called out to the dark-haired Texan standing on one side of
Catherine. Warrick stood on the other side, his hand gently cupping
Catherine's elbow as he talked softly to her.
Her head rose at the sound of his voice. Grissom could clearly see the vivid
trails from tears marring her usually flawless complexion. Her eyes were red
and puffy, a man's handkerchief gripped tightly in a clenched fist.
"Grissom." His name floated off Catherine's tongue, the relief at his arrival
evident in her change in posture. Despite the fact that Warrick, Nick and Brass
were there, it seemed that she had been waiting anxiously for him to arrive.
Catherine pulled out of Warrick's grasp and ran down the driveway to meet
him. The men followed at a slower pace.
"Catherine, we're going to find her," Grissom reassured her as he placed his
field kit down on the ground and caught her in a comforting embrace. It was
what they both needed right now, seeking solace in each other over the loved
one they had each lost.
Grissom was confident that they would locate Sara and Lindsey; it was the
state that they might be in when they found them that had him terrified. He
hugged Catherine closer to him as this thought crossed his mind.
Catherine just nodded in response to his placating words and broke out of the
uncharacteristic embrace. She wiped her eyes with the handkerchief and
sniffed. Catherine knew the truth - the success rates on these type of cases
were fifty-fifty and knew the danger to Lindsey and Sara was very real.
"Nick, there's a cigarette butt in the garden. Process it." Grissom took control
of the scene, eager to get some answers and start working towards finding
Sara and Lindsey.
"Onto it right away, Boss." Nick jumped at the chance to be able to start doing
something towards finding Lindsey and Sara. Ever since Warrick rang him,
Nick had struggled to comprehend that both of them had been taken; and it
looked as if one or both of them had been injured in the kidnapping. The
mundane task of collecting evidence would at least stop the vivid scenes
flashing through his mind.
"Can you tell me what happened? Take it slowly and tell me everything - every
minute detail." Grissom turned back towards Catherine, his eyes firmly fixed
on her face and concentrated intently on what she would possibly reveal.
Catherine ran through the details from the time she arrived home until when
she had returned, trying to remember each specific stage of her journey,
knowing how important little details can be to this type of case.
"Was there a car in the street?" Brass asked.
"Several," Catherine nodded her head, recalling driving down the street with
Sara. They were talking amiably in the car about meaningless things, but she
recalled exactly where each car was located, its colour and even the make and
model. It was something that had become intuitive to her, not only because of
her job but due to Eddie's adoration of cars.
"Any of the cars out of the ordinary?"
Catherine blew her nose delicately. She thought about them all, trying to
pinpoint which car belonged to whom. There was only one that she could not
place to any particular neighbour, one that even by its description sounded
ominously suspicious.
"There was one car. A Cadillac. I'm sure it was black with dark tinted
windows. You couldn't see anyone inside. It was there when I came home
with Sara, but was gone when I returned from the store."
"Any chance you saw the licence plate number?"
"No. I wasn't paying that much attention." Catherine shook her head slowly.
"Where was the car parked?"
"Directly across the road from my driveway." Catherine pointed to a spot
across the road from where they were standing.
"Warrick, see if you can find any tire tracks from the car or any other evidence."
Grissom wanted to get the processing underway now. The longer they left it,
the more evidence they would possibly lose.
Warrick nodded, heading off immediately to the designated area. His normally
easy gait had been transformed into a stiff, soldier-like march. His emotions
were being held tightly in check, but it would not take much to break the thin
layer of control.
"Nick, I want you to process out here. Get Warrick to give you a hand once
he's finished on the road."
"Greg, you're with me. We'll start on the house."
Greg looked relieved to finally be assigned something to do. He was also
pleased that he would get the opportunity to work with Grissom.
"I'll help," Catherine said.
"Catherine, you know you can't." Grissom shook his head, understanding her
need to do something other than watch them work the case. As much as he
wanted to utilise her expertise, he was well aware of the legal ramifications.
"I know you want to be in on the investigation, but it's your child who's involved.
You know as well as I do that you'll taint the evidence."
"At least I'd know exactly what's going on," Catherine grumbled. She knew that
she wouldn't be able to be involved in the case. But now she now knew how
the victim's family felt when they investigated, having to stand around and
watch, unable to do anything towards finding either the victim or the suspect,
whatever the case may be. It was heart-breaking to know that Lindsey was out
there, possibly injured, being used as a bargaining chip.
"I'll keep you informed," Grissom reassured her, placing a hand on her
shoulder. "You'll know everything that's happening."
"Promise?" Catherine's eyes shone with more unshed tears.
"Of course. This is Lindsey." Grissom gave her a small smile, encouraging
her to trust him and their ten year friendship. "Wait out here. Keep an eye on
the scene out here."
Grissom inclined his head towards Greg, indicating that he should follow him
into the house. Brass trailed along behind the two CSIs. His officers had
secured the scene, but since Catherine had scoured the house for the
perpetrators and found none, they had remained outside.
"Greg, leave your kit out here. I need you to take photos." Grissom handed
him the camera. "You know the protocol - take multiple overall locator shots
and close-ups. Start with the door."
"There were two of them. Whoever it was meant business," Brass
commented, referring to the large footprints that had been left on the door.
"Maybe not. Maybe they expected the job to be easy and it became difficult."
Grissom inspected the damage to the lock and the security chain, already
beginning to put together a chain of events. He could easily imagine how the
attack had started. Doorbell ringing, Sara answering the door but keeping the
safety chain secured, thwarting the kidnappers attempts at easy access to the
house.
"Because of Sara?" Greg asked as he took a close-up shot of the security
chain and the broken hinge on the door jam.
"She put up a hell of a fight," Brass said as they inspected the hallway, kitchen
and living room.
"Hmm." Grissom wasn't too sure he was happy that she had, knowing that the
likelihood was that she had been injured during the attack and the blood on the
floor would belong to her. He bent down and looked closely at the kettle on the
ground. Large dents had changed its shape dramatically. There was no blood
or strands of hair present. Grissom could only hope that Sara had been the
one wielding the kettle. He gingerly placed the kettle into a paper evidence
bag.
Not far from where he sat on his haunches, he saw the note. Grissom
indicated for Greg to take a photograph before he gingerly retrieved the piece
of evidence, opening the note with his gloved hands.
Brass read its contents over his shoulder. "We have taken your daughter.
Either you or your husband pay us what we are owed or your daughter will
suffer the consequences."
Grissom felt the coldness that had gripped his heart ever since Catherine's
call, pervade the rest of his body. His mind didn't slow as his breathing did; he
quickly realised that Sara had never been intended to be part of the kidnapping.
She had been an unexpected hindrance to the thoroughly planned abduction
of Lindsey.
He imagined the two men sitting in the car, waiting for Catherine to arrive home
from work.
"She's late."
"She'll be here."
"Here's the car now." Both men hunkered down in their seats, reducing their
visibility both to the car and of the occupants inside.
One of the men moved to get out.
"No," a hand stopped him. "We'll wait another twenty minutes. The baby-sitter
will have left and there'll be less chance of being seen by the neighbours
heading off to work. Then we can grab the kid and make sure Mom knows we
mean business."
Grissom shook his head, trying to clear the vivid image from his mind.
"Does Catherine know how much money they want?" Grissom asked.
"I haven't asked," Brass told him. "You do realise that Mobley will push your
shift off the case."
"No. Not a chance Ecklie is taking control of this."
"Just warning you in advance so you're not taken by surprise."
Greg made his way around the scene, placing the square ruler down beside
each piece of evidence he photographed and making sure each photo recorded
the date, time and case identifier number. Normally he would have been
bouncing around, enjoying the opportunity to get out of the lab and gain more
experience. His enjoyment had been quashed, knowing that Sara was the one
who had been taken, and obviously hurt in the process.
"Grissom, there's a print here - in the blood, and some hair," Greg called out,
breaking up the tense moment between the two men.
Grissom hurried over to take a closer look. The blood stain was on the corner
of coffee table. Inspecting the blood stain, Grissom was able to also see the
fine, long hairs stuck to the sticky substance.
"You've taken pictures?"
"Yep," Greg confirmed, nodding his head. "Got multiples."
Using tweezers, Grissom removed the hairs from the blood inspecting it
closely. They were dark and long, most likely Sara's. Skin tags were
connected to each; the attack had been violent.
Grissom pursed his lips and tilted his head slightly to the side as he looked at
the fingerprint in the blood. Taking a swab of the blood away from the print and
labelling it, he thought about how he would process the print. If his guess was
right, it wasn't just a single print. Pulling out his red creeper print power,
Grissom carefully dusted beside the single bloody print, the powder quickly
revealling a series of fingerprints.
"Red creeper... " Greg whispered.
Grissom didn't acknowledge his comment, but remembered the last time he
had employed the use of his red concoction. He had handed the jar to Sara
telling her "serious case, serious print powder." Remembering the smile she
had rewarded him with, he hoped that he would get the chance to see her
smile again; to tell her what she needed to hear.
Grissom realised that Greg was looking at him with a strange expression on
his face. Grissom pulled himself together, lifted the clear prints onto the double
sided tape and labelled them clearly. Hopefully whoever left the prints on the
table had a police record. It would narrow down their investigation quickly.
Brass wandered around the room, looking for more evidence. He spotted
Sara's cell phone on the floor in the kitchen and crouched down beside it.
"Sanders. This one too." Brass called out.
Greg moved over beside Brass and took more shots, making sure to obtain
locator as well as close-ups, ensuring that every piece of photographic
evidence would be viable.
"What have you got, Brass?" Grissom asked as he placed the fingerprint
evidence into his aluminum case.
"A cell phone." Brass pulled on a latex glove over his broad hand. "A
disconnected call..." Brass pressed the end key. The automatic saving
system brought the last number dialled up on screen, asking whether the cell
phone owner wished to store the number. "She called 911."
End Part 4/?
CHAPTER 4:
See Part 1 for disclaimers:
Catherine drummed her fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. She
couldn't see what the hold-up in the traffic was, but whatever the cause, it had
managed to slow down two lanes of usually fast flowing traffic to a snail's pace
crawl. She regretted her impulse to buy extra food. While she was in the
grocery store, she had though that it would be nice to invite Sara to stay for
lunch. Since Grissom was also coming to collect Sara, there would not be
enough food in the house, so Catherine had picked up a variety of salad items.
Looking at the digital clock on the dashboard, she checked the time against the
watch on her wrist. It was still correct and she realised that Lindsay was going
to be late for school. Rifling through her handbag on the seat beside her,
Catherine pulled out her cell phone and hit the speed dial for home. The phone
rang four times before the answering machine kicked in.
"Sara, will you pick up the phone?" Catherine waited expectantly for the
receiver to be picked up, giving her colleague time to move from wherever she
was in the house.
"I'm caught in traffic. I'm not sure how long it will take, but I've only got a couple
of streets before I can deviate out of this mess and take some back-streets
home. Hopefully I'll be there in ten." Catherine frowned. She had been sure
Sara would pick up during her message, but there was nothing. "Thanks,
Sara. See ya soon."
Catherine's mind began to churn over all the reasons Sara, or for that matter
Lindsey, had not picked up the phone. A gnawing fear began to eat at her
stomach as worrisome scenarios of Lindsey becoming ill or injured somehow
and Sara having to race down to the hospital played through her mind. She
realised deep down inside that she was probably worrying unnecessarily and
the two of them were so engrossed in the television that they hadn't heard the
phone.
She remembered suddenly that Sara had mentioned she had a meeting she
had to go to. But Sara had said the meeting was "later". Catherine had
interpreted it as being either late morning or early afternoon. Sara couldn't
possibly have gone to the meeting and left Lindsey at home alone, could she?
After eight painstakingly long minutes, she was able to turn down a side street
and weave her way through residential streets to her own house.
Catherine parked the car and gave the handbrake a firm tug as she turned off
the engine. She exited the car quickly and walked up the path towards her front
door, the small bag of groceries balanced on her hip.
A drop of blood on the concrete caught her eye and she frowned. She knew
the blood splatter hadn't been there when she left earlier. Her breath caught
in her throat as she bent down to inspect the blood drops; the blood was fresh.
Mouth slightly open, eyes focused intently on the path ahead, Catherine slowly
rose to her feet. More drops of blood trailed towards the house and a single
partial footprint of blood was outlined, leading away from the house towards the
street. Her heart ran cold and her fingers went numb with fear. Her handbag
and shopping bag fell to the ground with a crash, the milk carton exploding on
impact and sending a flood of white, frothy liquid over the path.
Catherine ran to the door and pushed it open, subconsciously noting the
physical damage to the door - several dirty footprints marred its surface and
the safety chain lock had been ripped from its hinges.
"Lindsey!" Catherine dully realised that her voice was screeching, panic quickly
setting in. The hallway and family room bore evidence of a fierce struggle.
Blood splatter marred the cream, single twist-loop carpet in two distinct areas.
Seeing the damage, Catherine ran through the house, searching each room
for her daughter, calling out her name in desperation. Her voice became
hoarse, Lindsey's name died on her lips as she returned to the family room.
She belatedly realised at the end of her fruitless search that not only was her
daughter missing, but so was Sara.
Catherine didn't know what to make of the damage to her house. Questions
flooded her mind; Who had forced their way in? And why? Whose blood was
on the floor? Were Lindsey or Sara injured? Where were they? Catherine felt
overwhelmed and ill with dread.
While still fearful of what had happened, clinical assessment of the scene
around her began to sink in: the patch of wet carpet near the kitchen, a large
blood splatter nearby, her badly dented kettle lying on the floor in the family
room and the blood on the coffee table as well as the floor beside it. And a
piece of paper. Catherine frowned. There hadn't been paper on the table when
she left.
Carefully walking around the scene, Catherine bent down to take a closer look.
It was sitting in the blood. She resisted the urge to pick it up, its appearance
enough to warn her that this was serious. The few cut and pasted words that
she was able to read without picking it up held an ominous warning. 'We ...
daughter... husband pay ... owed or.... conseq...'
Catherine's hands were shaking badly as she raced back towards the front
path where she had dropped her bag. Digging through it, she frantically
searched for her cell phone and hit the speed dial for Grissom.
"Grissom," Grissom answered the phone distractedly, his attention focused on
the orange-kneed tarantula that was walking gently over his hand. He was
slumped back in his seat, enjoying the silent peace that permeated the office
at the end of a busy shift and waiting for sufficient time to elapse before
heading to Catherine's house.
"They've taken her. Gil, they've got her." Catherine held her hand to her
mouth, her lips quivering as her worst fears had come to fruition.
"Catherine...calm down." Catherine's distraught voice caused Grissom to sit
up suddenly, scaring the delicate spider with the sudden motion, its hair
standing on end. Grissom was confused by Catherine's statement. Her voice
was frantic and rushed, the high pitched tone playing havoc with his hearing.
He only caught a few of her words. "What's happened? Who's taken who?"
"Gil, don't tell me to calm down. Lindsey's been kidnapped! There's a note.
It looks like a ransom." Catherine rubbed her forehead, supporting one side of
her face with her hand as full comprehension hit her: the worst fear a mother
could have had just become reality.
"What? Where are you?" His hearing picked up the words perfectly. He hoped
that it wouldn't fade on him now. Catherine needed his full support; she
needed him to be her rock. In all the years he had worked with her, he had
never heard her this upset. Catherine wasn't one for hysterics and he knew
the disappearance of her daughter was affecting her deeply. He felt the loss
acutely as well; the blonde-haired child had claimed a special place in his
heart. Just who had taken her, he didn't know, but he was determined that he
was going to find out. It shook him that a crime that they would usually
investigate had been suffered by one of their own.
"At home." Catherine's voice caught in her throat as the tears filled her eyes,
spilling over and down her face. "Gil, I only went out to pick up some milk... I
got caught in traffic. When I got home both Lindsey and Sara were gone."
"Lindsey and Sara?" Grissom's heart went cold when Catherine mentioned the
second name. He had to take a deep breath to cope with the news. He
closed his eyes and willed himself to stay calm. "Stay where you are. I'm
coming with Nick and Warrick. I'll call Brass in. Catherine, stay outside the
crime scene until I get there. Don't touch a thing. I'll be there straight away."
"It's a bit too late for that," Catherine muttered more to herself than into the
phone as Grissom cut off the call.
Catherine paced outside the house, thinking. The note made reference to
Eddie. She thought about the previous evening's altercation and the begging
for the twenty-five thousand dollars. Eddie had mentioned that something
could happen to him, but he'd never said about a threat to Lindsey. If anything
happened to Lindsey, she'd kill Eddie when she got her hands on him.
Dialling Eddie's home number, Catherine was invited to leave a message on
his answering machine and his cell phone switched immediately to his
messagebank. She paced the driveway, cursing his name along with herself
for even going out and leaving Lindsey and Sara at home.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Grissom placed the phone down in its cradle, his hand resting on top of it as
he tried to control the tidal wave of emotions plaguing him. He stared at the
innocuous phone, the deliverer of the devastating news, knowing that he
needed to call Brass, but unable for that moment to verbalise the reality of the
situation he now was faced with.
"Griss? Everything okay?"
Grissom looked up at Warrick standing in the doorway, his forehead furrowed.
His gaze was settled on the spider that was now walking its way across the
desk.
"No. No, it's not." Grissom said, easily capturing the spider and placing it back
inside its glass house. "I need you and Nick to work a double. Do you know
where he is?"
"I think he's already left. What's the case?"
"Kidnapping. Sara and Lindsey."
"What?" Warrick's head snapped up in shock at the news. "When?"
"Catherine just rang. They've both disappeared from her house this morning -
a ransom note was left behind. I need someone out there straight away, but
I still have to call Brass." Grissom wanted someone to be with Catherine and
Warrick was the exact person he needed.
"I'll call Nick and get out there immediately."
"Wait for Brass and I to arrive before going inside." Grissom didn't specifically
say that he wanted someone with Catherine, but Warrick picked up on his
intent.
"We'll secure the scene."
"Thanks."
Warrick had given him the push he needed to get moving on the case. He
quelled his fears for his CSI and Lindsey and made the call that would definitely
give life to one of the worst cases he had ever investigated in his career. Not
because of its scenario, but because it affected those close to him.
"Brass," Brass answered his cell phone curtly, his surly attitude the result of
a hard night with four homicides, one of which Sheriff Mobley was riding him
hard to get a result on.
"Jim, I've got a double kidnapping." Grissom kept his tone even, not allowing
his voice to betray the deepset worry that tormented him.
"Since when have you been getting the low down on crime."
"Since the victims are Sara Sidle and Lindsey Willows."
"Catherine's kid?"
"Yes. Can you get over to Catherine's place - 21B Cyprus Drive? We need to
get there while the evidence is fresh. There's a ransom note."
"Heading there right now."
"Thanks."
Grissom collected his fully prepared field kit and went to collect the ALS,
electrostatic lifter and the 'nose'. This case was going to utilise the entire
range of the CSI labs equipment. As he passed the DNA lab, he heard Greg's
punk rock music pounding out its beat. Grissom didn't even bother saying a
word until he had switched off the pulsating music, the young man dancing to
the tune while capably attending to the more mundane tasks involved in his job.
Greg stopped mid-turn, his mouth frozen part way through the song as he took
stock of his boss' ashen expression.
"Greg, how's your course going?"
"Great," Greg answered, surprised. Of all the questions that Grissom could
have asked, this was one of the last on his list.
"How would you like to practice your new skills?" Grissom realised that they
would need another pair of hands and ever since they had investigated the
multiple fatality bus crash last year, Greg had wanted to increase his skills in
other areas so that he could assist in major cases where the graveyard shift
needed extra assistance.
"At a real crime scene?" Greg couldn't believe his luck; an opportunity to get
out of the lab and do some real CSI work.
"Yes. We're short two CSIs."
"Why?" Greg frowned. Being short one was not uncommon, but two CSIs
was highly unusual. Then again, it looked like Grissom's crew was working a
double.
"We've got a double kidnapping. Lindsey Willows and Sara."
"Our Sara?" Greg felt as if he had been kicked in his gut.
"Yes."
Now Greg understood the ashen expression on Grissom's face. Right now,
Greg knew that his own face probably reflected the same distress.
"C'mmon Greg, you're with me."
Greg didn't ask any further questions, but followed his curly-haired boss down
the hallway to the garage.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Grissom parked the Tahoe out in the street, just outside the yellow crime
scene tape harnessing the driveway to Catherine's house. The sight sent a
chill down his spine.
Normally he allowed the other CSIs to drive him to a crime scene, but he didn't
quite possess the same faith and trust in Greg. Grissom wasn't sure if it was
related to the incidents where he'd caught Greg dressed up in some very
interesting hair accessories, dancing to the pulsating music vibrating through
his lab or limited to the fact that he'd never been subjected to Greg's driving
outside the lab.
They hopped out of the Tahoe and went to the back of the vehicle. Greg
reached in to take out the ALS.
"Leave the other equipment here for the moment," Grissom said, shaking his
head. He handed Greg a field kit. "We'll just take our field kits to start off with."
Grissom ducked under the yellow tape and Greg followed closely on his heels.
He was unsure of what he had to do and wanted to only please the man whom
he respected, but who at the same time brought all his insecurities to the
surface. The fact that this crime involved Sara and Lindsey had silenced
Greg's usual expositions.
From the moment Grissom had arrived, he had been assessing the scene.
Each detail etched itself in his mind's eye and created the basis on which he
would expand as the evidence was processed. A cigarette butt tossed into the
garden bed alongside the driveway caught his attention. It could be nothing; it
could be vital.
"Nick!" Grissom called out to the dark-haired Texan standing on one side of
Catherine. Warrick stood on the other side, his hand gently cupping
Catherine's elbow as he talked softly to her.
Her head rose at the sound of his voice. Grissom could clearly see the vivid
trails from tears marring her usually flawless complexion. Her eyes were red
and puffy, a man's handkerchief gripped tightly in a clenched fist.
"Grissom." His name floated off Catherine's tongue, the relief at his arrival
evident in her change in posture. Despite the fact that Warrick, Nick and Brass
were there, it seemed that she had been waiting anxiously for him to arrive.
Catherine pulled out of Warrick's grasp and ran down the driveway to meet
him. The men followed at a slower pace.
"Catherine, we're going to find her," Grissom reassured her as he placed his
field kit down on the ground and caught her in a comforting embrace. It was
what they both needed right now, seeking solace in each other over the loved
one they had each lost.
Grissom was confident that they would locate Sara and Lindsey; it was the
state that they might be in when they found them that had him terrified. He
hugged Catherine closer to him as this thought crossed his mind.
Catherine just nodded in response to his placating words and broke out of the
uncharacteristic embrace. She wiped her eyes with the handkerchief and
sniffed. Catherine knew the truth - the success rates on these type of cases
were fifty-fifty and knew the danger to Lindsey and Sara was very real.
"Nick, there's a cigarette butt in the garden. Process it." Grissom took control
of the scene, eager to get some answers and start working towards finding
Sara and Lindsey.
"Onto it right away, Boss." Nick jumped at the chance to be able to start doing
something towards finding Lindsey and Sara. Ever since Warrick rang him,
Nick had struggled to comprehend that both of them had been taken; and it
looked as if one or both of them had been injured in the kidnapping. The
mundane task of collecting evidence would at least stop the vivid scenes
flashing through his mind.
"Can you tell me what happened? Take it slowly and tell me everything - every
minute detail." Grissom turned back towards Catherine, his eyes firmly fixed
on her face and concentrated intently on what she would possibly reveal.
Catherine ran through the details from the time she arrived home until when
she had returned, trying to remember each specific stage of her journey,
knowing how important little details can be to this type of case.
"Was there a car in the street?" Brass asked.
"Several," Catherine nodded her head, recalling driving down the street with
Sara. They were talking amiably in the car about meaningless things, but she
recalled exactly where each car was located, its colour and even the make and
model. It was something that had become intuitive to her, not only because of
her job but due to Eddie's adoration of cars.
"Any of the cars out of the ordinary?"
Catherine blew her nose delicately. She thought about them all, trying to
pinpoint which car belonged to whom. There was only one that she could not
place to any particular neighbour, one that even by its description sounded
ominously suspicious.
"There was one car. A Cadillac. I'm sure it was black with dark tinted
windows. You couldn't see anyone inside. It was there when I came home
with Sara, but was gone when I returned from the store."
"Any chance you saw the licence plate number?"
"No. I wasn't paying that much attention." Catherine shook her head slowly.
"Where was the car parked?"
"Directly across the road from my driveway." Catherine pointed to a spot
across the road from where they were standing.
"Warrick, see if you can find any tire tracks from the car or any other evidence."
Grissom wanted to get the processing underway now. The longer they left it,
the more evidence they would possibly lose.
Warrick nodded, heading off immediately to the designated area. His normally
easy gait had been transformed into a stiff, soldier-like march. His emotions
were being held tightly in check, but it would not take much to break the thin
layer of control.
"Nick, I want you to process out here. Get Warrick to give you a hand once
he's finished on the road."
"Greg, you're with me. We'll start on the house."
Greg looked relieved to finally be assigned something to do. He was also
pleased that he would get the opportunity to work with Grissom.
"I'll help," Catherine said.
"Catherine, you know you can't." Grissom shook his head, understanding her
need to do something other than watch them work the case. As much as he
wanted to utilise her expertise, he was well aware of the legal ramifications.
"I know you want to be in on the investigation, but it's your child who's involved.
You know as well as I do that you'll taint the evidence."
"At least I'd know exactly what's going on," Catherine grumbled. She knew that
she wouldn't be able to be involved in the case. But now she now knew how
the victim's family felt when they investigated, having to stand around and
watch, unable to do anything towards finding either the victim or the suspect,
whatever the case may be. It was heart-breaking to know that Lindsey was out
there, possibly injured, being used as a bargaining chip.
"I'll keep you informed," Grissom reassured her, placing a hand on her
shoulder. "You'll know everything that's happening."
"Promise?" Catherine's eyes shone with more unshed tears.
"Of course. This is Lindsey." Grissom gave her a small smile, encouraging
her to trust him and their ten year friendship. "Wait out here. Keep an eye on
the scene out here."
Grissom inclined his head towards Greg, indicating that he should follow him
into the house. Brass trailed along behind the two CSIs. His officers had
secured the scene, but since Catherine had scoured the house for the
perpetrators and found none, they had remained outside.
"Greg, leave your kit out here. I need you to take photos." Grissom handed
him the camera. "You know the protocol - take multiple overall locator shots
and close-ups. Start with the door."
"There were two of them. Whoever it was meant business," Brass
commented, referring to the large footprints that had been left on the door.
"Maybe not. Maybe they expected the job to be easy and it became difficult."
Grissom inspected the damage to the lock and the security chain, already
beginning to put together a chain of events. He could easily imagine how the
attack had started. Doorbell ringing, Sara answering the door but keeping the
safety chain secured, thwarting the kidnappers attempts at easy access to the
house.
"Because of Sara?" Greg asked as he took a close-up shot of the security
chain and the broken hinge on the door jam.
"She put up a hell of a fight," Brass said as they inspected the hallway, kitchen
and living room.
"Hmm." Grissom wasn't too sure he was happy that she had, knowing that the
likelihood was that she had been injured during the attack and the blood on the
floor would belong to her. He bent down and looked closely at the kettle on the
ground. Large dents had changed its shape dramatically. There was no blood
or strands of hair present. Grissom could only hope that Sara had been the
one wielding the kettle. He gingerly placed the kettle into a paper evidence
bag.
Not far from where he sat on his haunches, he saw the note. Grissom
indicated for Greg to take a photograph before he gingerly retrieved the piece
of evidence, opening the note with his gloved hands.
Brass read its contents over his shoulder. "We have taken your daughter.
Either you or your husband pay us what we are owed or your daughter will
suffer the consequences."
Grissom felt the coldness that had gripped his heart ever since Catherine's
call, pervade the rest of his body. His mind didn't slow as his breathing did; he
quickly realised that Sara had never been intended to be part of the kidnapping.
She had been an unexpected hindrance to the thoroughly planned abduction
of Lindsey.
He imagined the two men sitting in the car, waiting for Catherine to arrive home
from work.
"She's late."
"She'll be here."
"Here's the car now." Both men hunkered down in their seats, reducing their
visibility both to the car and of the occupants inside.
One of the men moved to get out.
"No," a hand stopped him. "We'll wait another twenty minutes. The baby-sitter
will have left and there'll be less chance of being seen by the neighbours
heading off to work. Then we can grab the kid and make sure Mom knows we
mean business."
Grissom shook his head, trying to clear the vivid image from his mind.
"Does Catherine know how much money they want?" Grissom asked.
"I haven't asked," Brass told him. "You do realise that Mobley will push your
shift off the case."
"No. Not a chance Ecklie is taking control of this."
"Just warning you in advance so you're not taken by surprise."
Greg made his way around the scene, placing the square ruler down beside
each piece of evidence he photographed and making sure each photo recorded
the date, time and case identifier number. Normally he would have been
bouncing around, enjoying the opportunity to get out of the lab and gain more
experience. His enjoyment had been quashed, knowing that Sara was the one
who had been taken, and obviously hurt in the process.
"Grissom, there's a print here - in the blood, and some hair," Greg called out,
breaking up the tense moment between the two men.
Grissom hurried over to take a closer look. The blood stain was on the corner
of coffee table. Inspecting the blood stain, Grissom was able to also see the
fine, long hairs stuck to the sticky substance.
"You've taken pictures?"
"Yep," Greg confirmed, nodding his head. "Got multiples."
Using tweezers, Grissom removed the hairs from the blood inspecting it
closely. They were dark and long, most likely Sara's. Skin tags were
connected to each; the attack had been violent.
Grissom pursed his lips and tilted his head slightly to the side as he looked at
the fingerprint in the blood. Taking a swab of the blood away from the print and
labelling it, he thought about how he would process the print. If his guess was
right, it wasn't just a single print. Pulling out his red creeper print power,
Grissom carefully dusted beside the single bloody print, the powder quickly
revealling a series of fingerprints.
"Red creeper... " Greg whispered.
Grissom didn't acknowledge his comment, but remembered the last time he
had employed the use of his red concoction. He had handed the jar to Sara
telling her "serious case, serious print powder." Remembering the smile she
had rewarded him with, he hoped that he would get the chance to see her
smile again; to tell her what she needed to hear.
Grissom realised that Greg was looking at him with a strange expression on
his face. Grissom pulled himself together, lifted the clear prints onto the double
sided tape and labelled them clearly. Hopefully whoever left the prints on the
table had a police record. It would narrow down their investigation quickly.
Brass wandered around the room, looking for more evidence. He spotted
Sara's cell phone on the floor in the kitchen and crouched down beside it.
"Sanders. This one too." Brass called out.
Greg moved over beside Brass and took more shots, making sure to obtain
locator as well as close-ups, ensuring that every piece of photographic
evidence would be viable.
"What have you got, Brass?" Grissom asked as he placed the fingerprint
evidence into his aluminum case.
"A cell phone." Brass pulled on a latex glove over his broad hand. "A
disconnected call..." Brass pressed the end key. The automatic saving
system brought the last number dialled up on screen, asking whether the cell
phone owner wished to store the number. "She called 911."
End Part 4/?