CHAPTER 5:
See Part 1 for disclaimers
Grissom walked down the hallway. It gave him a sense
of dislocation to hear the usual sounds that occupied the
halls of the CSI building daily. On the one hand, he was
grateful to be able to hear every individual sound without
feeling like he was caught in a riptide, struggling to break
free of the water dragging him under and away from the
steadfast rock of his foundation. On the other, he
couldn't help wanting to shout out that life had no right to
go on as if nothing had happened - they were missing...
Sara had been taken from him.
Head downcast, Grissom began to compile in his mind
the possible evidence that had been gathered at the
crime scene. He was about to enter the conference
room when the voice of the newscaster caught his
attention. He stopped abruptly in the doorway. His eyes
were drawn to the television mounted to the ceiling in the
corner of the room. The familiar figure of Paula Francis
was on the screen.
"We have a breaking story here... A Las Vegas criminalist
has been abducted from her home. We go now to Shane
Green at the scene."
The screen crossed over to show the driveway leading to
Catherine's home, sealed from the public and inquiring
media by the customary yellow and black crime scene
tape. The dark-haired reporter launched into his
presentation.
"Initial reports are that Sara Side, a criminalist with the Las
Vegas Police Department was abducted from this house this
morning together with the nine year old daughter of a
colleague. Details are sketchy at this stage and there is no
information as to whether the abduction is related to a current
case under investigation."
Grissom entered the conference room as the reporter
said his last sentence. He grabbed the television control
from off the table and pressed the button. The screen
turned blank and all eyes turned to him before quickly
dropping to avoid direct contact.
He was the last of his team to enter. Silence greeted
him. As Grissom sat down, he swept his eyes over them
all. Warrick's body was pitched forward, elbows resting
on the table, downcast eyes scanning the evidence
before him. Nick was slumped in his seat, fingering the
edge of the file. He was obviously avoiding the contents,
avoiding the reality that the crime had touched one of
their own. Greg was also slumped down in his chair, his
quietness a clue to how the very nature of this crime
affected him. Then there was Brass, his normally laid-
back attitude zinged with energy, determination filling his
rounded face.
It was obvious that he needed to make his team a team.
They were missing two key members, which was
seriously affecting them all. But if they were to continue
to process this crime, they would need to operate
cohesively and with the precision of a well-oiled machine.
Grissom realised that he was going to have to be the oil
to keep the machine working smoothly.
"Catherine's sister is staying with her. What I want to do
is run a chronology of the crime scene and what we have
so far. Warrick, let's start with you."
Warrick looked up, his eyes blinking a moment as he
absorbed the request. "The tire tracks I found on the
road are unusual. They match with Goodyear Eagle F1.
While designed to fit a wide range of vehicles, the make
was only released two weeks ago on the market.
Another interesting point is the width of the tires. The
prints match a 225/50ZR16 tire. Not a commonly used
size by the average consumer. I've got Travis chasing
up the local dealers for details of all recent sales on this
tire."
Warrick pulled out the photograph of the tire track he had
obtained from the scene. The blown up shot clearly
showed the tread and its rather unique pattern. He also
produced a copy of a recent promotional piece by the
company which detailed the pattern. A perfect visual
match.
"The other tire impressions I found were in the driveway
and in the centre of the road. Whoever it was reversed
out of there like a bat out of hell. Left perfect prints on
the driveway, although the tread is common to many four
cylinder vehicles - Aquatred 3. But one of the left tires
has a nail in it." Again, Warrick placed the photographs
on the table in front of him with the comparative match.
"Slow leak," Nick murmured under his breath, relieved at
having something to tie the kidnapper to the crime.
"Once we have the suspect's vehicle that evidence is
going to be crucial," Grissom pointed out. "Nick."
Nick sat up at the sound of his name, pulling himself
immediately into action. "Greg's still working on the DNA
from the cigarette butt against the blood you found at the
house. It'll be a few more hours before we'll have a
comparison."
Nick tossed out some crime scene photographs, using
his pen to point to each individual one as he detailed the
contents. "Footprints on the door were size ten and
twelve. One had part of the maker's name left in the
imprint. They're handmade Italian imports. Sold in
Vegas only to Vincenetti's. Tried to get details of the
customers, but the owner is refusing to give anything
without a warrant. Brass is working on it." Nick nodded
towards the rotund homicide detective.
"Should have it within twenty minutes. I've got Sam
seeing the judge as we speak," Brass informed them.
Nick continued, pushing the overlapping photographs
apart and pulling the ones he wanted to the top of the
pile. "The other footprints in the house can all be
accounted for except for two. One was partially in the
blood on the floor and the other was found in the hallway.
They're not a match to the two on the door."
"So we have four unidentified assailants," Grissom said
to no one in particular, momentarily lost in thought. He
caught himself quickly, not allowing his personal
involvement to possibly jeopardise the investigation.
Looking towards Brass, Brass picked up immediately on
what he wanted.
"Sam in the process of tracing a recording of the 911 call.
It may give us more to go on. Interviews with neighbours
haven't revealled much," Brass told them, tapping his
gold pen against the folder in his lap. "Most weren't
home at the time we did a door to door knock. We'll
have to go back later tonight to follow up. However, one
woman recalled hearing a scream. She went out to take
a look, but only saw a car reversing out of Catherine's
driveway and speeding off."
"Any better description?" Grissom asked, grasping for the
possibility of a stronger lead in which to trace the
suspects.
"Red Toyota Corolla. She only got part of the registration
plate," Brass told him, happy to provide an ounce of relief
to the man who had once been his sub-ordinate. He had
noted the waxed look to Grissom's features and knew
that the investigation was weighing down on him heavily.
"I take it you're running a trace," Grissom said, his eyes
questioning Brass over the top of the glasses perched on
the end of his nose.
"As we speak."
"Greg," Grissom said his name curtly, his tone trying to
convey that he wanted answers not expositions.
"The blood on the coffee table and floor was a type
match for Sara's. The one in the hallway was different..."
"How'd you get a comparison?" Warrick broke into the
dissertation and sat up straight, his mind trying to come
up with an explanation.
"The blood on the paper towels from Eddie's attack on
her last night," Grissom told the group calmly.
"Oh... Is this tied in to what happened last night?" Nick
asked, his face genuinely surprised. It had not even
crossed his mind that the two could be related.
"I believe so. I spoke with Catherine earlier," Grissom
informed them. "Eddie came to ask Catherine for money
last night. He was being hounded for twenty thousand
dollars."
"So we know who has Sara and Lindsey." Warrick
immediately felt relief that they were going to be able to
find them soon. Eddie would be able to provide them
with the name of the extortionist and it would all be
finished.
"No. Eddie never said who he owed the money to and
she can't find him now," Grissom informed them matter-
of-factly, despite the fact his insides were churning as to
how close they could be to finding the two.
"And she didn't ask?" Nick queried.
"No. She didn't realise that Lindsey was in danger."
"Damn." Warrick said, his closed fist hitting the top of the
conference table with force.
"Warrick." Grissom's tone pulled the younger man back
into line.
"Sorry, Griss. It's just..." Warrick searched for words to
explain how he was feeling, how he was thinking about
Catherine and what she would be experiencing right now.
"I can only imagine how Catherine's feeling right now....
wishing she had asked."
"We've got leads... we all know how important the first
hours are in a kidnapping. There's a tap on Catherine's
phone... " Brass began reassuring the group. A knock on
the window interrupted him.
Red-haired Sheriff Mobley stood in the doorway. "Gil,
can I speak to you for a moment."
Grissom rose slowly from his seat. He recalled Brass'
warning earlier that morning. Behind the Sheriff,
Grissom narrowed his eyes when he noticed that Conrad
Ecklie was hanging around like a bad smell. While
Grissom could cope with most decomposing matter,
Ecklie's vampiristic attachment to cases in the media
spotlight managed to break through even his cast iron
resistance. He realised that Brass had called the shots
accurately. He was prepared for the impending battle
ahead. Keeping a tight rein on the anger boiling
precariously below the surface, he excused himself from
his team.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Catherine, here's some tea," Jennifer McNab placed the
steaming brew under her sister's nose. She had tried to
get Catherine to lie down and sleep, to no avail. Tear
tracks marred the usually perfect make-up and red eyes
greeted her whenever they looked up to meet her own.
Catherine wrapped her long fingers around the large mug
with a cartoon on the front. Something about all the good
men being either married or gay. The joke hardly
registered in her fog-laden brain. She sipped the brew
and the sharp sweetness got her attention.
"How many sugars did you put in that?" Catherine asked,
pushing the tea away and shaking her head in disgust.
"Three and you need it, so drink up." Jennifer pushed the
drink back towards her.
The sharp trill of Catherine's cell phone broke their
impasse.
"I'll answer it. You drink some of that tea," Jennifer
commanded her younger sister. It wasn't often that she
took control. Catherine recognised the impenetrable
wall and slowly sipped the sickly, sweet tea.
Jennifer moved from her seat and picked up the cell
phone on the kitchen bench.
"Hello," Jennifer answered. She broke off as she was
rudely interrupted. "I'll get her for you."
Jennifer walked the phone over to Catherine. She
handed her sister the small portable phone, saying softly
"Someone asking for you."
"Who is it?"
"Don't know. Ask them." Jennifer sat down and listened
unabashedly to the one-sided conversation.
"Catherine Willows." Catherine answered the phone more
tentatively, the abduction of her daughter making her
suspicious of everything and everyone around her.
"Mommy."
"Lindsey!" Catherine leaned back in her seat with a
sense of relief. Her daughter was alive! "Are you all
right? Are you hurt?"
"No, Mommy. I've had KFC and ice cream and they've
let me watch Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets,"
Lindsey detailed excitedly, the words were strung
together almost as if they were one . "Mommy, Sara was
hurt."
"Is Sara okay?" Catherine asked, fear for her colleague
flooding her words.
"Sara isn't here, Mommy. They left her in the house.
She was bleeding..." Lindsey's voice suddenly cut off
mid-sentence to be replaced with a deep-set, villainous
one.
"That's enough. Now you know she's alive and being
treated okay. It's your turn..."
"Where's Sara?" Catherine interrupted the man. The
words that Lindsey had said were beginning to sink
through the thankfulness that her daughter had not been
harmed. "What've you done with her? "
"Sara? Who's Sara?"
"The woman who was with my daughter when you took
her. You'd hurt her."
"She was one tough cookie. Nearly took out two of my
guys. Wished she was on my side..." There was almost
an air of wistfulness in the tone as the admiration for
Sara's actions. " We left her on the floor. She was
unconscious."
Catherine was worried. If the man's words were correct,
then who had taken Sara?
The deep voice broke through her thoughts. "Enough of
this. It's your turn to return the favour for us keeping
your daughter safe. We want our money and we want it
today. You tell that low-life husband..."
"Ex-husband," Catherine automatically corrected him, her
hand slapping instantly over her mouth the instant the
words were said. The nature of their exact relationship
was unimportant right now.
"Ex-husband of yours that if I don't have the cash by 9.00
a.m. tomorrow, things may not be so nice for your little
girl." The deep resonating voice continued as if she
hadn't interrupted, other than the correction to his words.
"You do anything to her and you'll pay..."
"No, the reason we have her is so that you will," the
intimidating voice reminded her. "We want our twenty
thousand by 9.00 a.m tomorrow."
"How do I know where to pay the money?"
"Ask your husband."
"But I can't find him..." Catherine found that she was
talking to a dead line... the call had been disconnected
before she could tell them. She held onto the phone
numbly, shocked at the content of the call sinking in.
Despair filled her as she realised that her ability to
comply with the request was impossible. Not from a
financial standpoint, but because she didn't know who
Eddie owed the money to.
"Cath, what happened? What did they say? When's
Lindsey coming home?" Jennifer was desperate for her
sister to break free of her horrified trance and speak.
She knew that this call had placed her sister in more
troubled waters, but needed to know the full implications
in order to support her through this crisis.
Catherine tuned out her sister's questions, twisting the
phone over in her hand. She tried to swallow down the
heavy ball of fear that was clogging her throat. Despite
the fact that she thought she had cried herself dry,
Catherine found tears filling her eyes once again.
Lindsey was okay, but she was in immediate danger.
The kidnappers threat was not an idle one. Sara was
missing. Shaking her head, wanting some reassurance,
Catherine hit number one on her speed dial.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
As soon as Sheriff Mobley saw Grissom approaching he
pulled his shoulders back, imagining that his large, barrel
chest would provide him with more clout. He found
himself at a loss to know how to control this investigator
who challenged his authority, caring more for the solving
of cases than the political ramifications of some of his
investigations.
"Why did I have to find out about the kidnapping of one
of *your* CSIs from the media?" Mobley fired the
question the moment that Grissom had shut the
conference door behind him.
"I sent an email advising you of the situation," Grissom
told him shortly.
"I don't check my email so early in the morning. You
could have phoned me," Mobley pointed out.
Grissom raised one eyebrow in response. He knew that,
but kept his face neutral so as not to confirm precisely
what he had avoided doing.
Mobley chose to ignore the possibility that Grissom had
thought to phone him and decided not to. "So who are
the victims... I missed catching those details with all the
questions being thrown at me this morning."
"Sara Sidle and Lindsey Willows."
"Sidle I know. The other one - any relative of Catherine
Willows?"
"Daughter," Grissom answered shortly.
"Ecklie's team will have to take over the case. You're all
to close to this one," Mobley determined, his tone
begging for no argument.
"No."
"Gil..." Ecklie began, speaking for the first time.
"Brian, the first twelve hours in a kidnapping are crucial.
By the time Ecklie's team finds their asses, it'll be almost
that deadline and it'll be 'home time' for his crew and
they'll pack up and come back tomorrow. That is just not
happening," Grissom told him aggressively.
There was only one other time that Mobley had been
witness to Grissom's wrath. The Strip Strangler case and
Grissom's assessment had been accurate on that
account.
"Grissom, you are out of line..." Ecklie began, but his
words were ignored.
"Brian, these people are too important. I'm not risking
them in someone else's hands." Grissom refused to
back down.
"My people are excellent investigators," Ecklie told
Mobley.
"Back off, Ecklie. This is my case," Grissom turned his
back on the obnoxious man. A moment later though, he
turned and acknowledged his presence. "Although, I
could use one of your staff. Toby Wright."
"You don't want my team, just one of them."
"For now," Grissom agreed.
"Gil, I can suspend you right now." Sheriff Mobley
warned, seeking to get control over the situation once
again. Somehow, it had all gone very differently from
what he had imagined, as had every other stand-off he
had had with Grissom.
"Suspend me and I'll leave after I find them," Grissom
warned. "And I'm going to find them. I've got a feeling
that the rest of my team might just follow suit on this one.
Brian, we have the case under control. We've got
several leads that we're chasing up right now." Grissom
broke off his argument as his cell phone began to ring.
He excused himself from the two other men.
"Grissom," he answered curtly. "Catherine, slow down.
Take a breath. Okay, now tell me."
He listened intently as Catherine slowly related the story
of Lindsey's telephone call and the threat that had re-
affirmed the contents of the ransom note.
"Sara's not with her? Are you sure?" Grissom was
confused. If Sara wasn't with Lindsey, what had
happened to her? "Have you been able to find Eddie?"
"Okay, come in and we'll go over the information and try
to pinpoint what could've happened," Grissom instructed,
finishing the call.
Sheriff Mobley and Ecklie were both about to continue
their discussion when Mandy came rushing towards
them, a swath of print-outs in her hands.
"Mr. Grissom."
"Yes, Mandy." Grissom turned to face the fingerprint
expert.
"The fingerprint - I've got a match."
"Who?"
"Eddie Willows."
End Part 5/?
See Part 1 for disclaimers
Grissom walked down the hallway. It gave him a sense
of dislocation to hear the usual sounds that occupied the
halls of the CSI building daily. On the one hand, he was
grateful to be able to hear every individual sound without
feeling like he was caught in a riptide, struggling to break
free of the water dragging him under and away from the
steadfast rock of his foundation. On the other, he
couldn't help wanting to shout out that life had no right to
go on as if nothing had happened - they were missing...
Sara had been taken from him.
Head downcast, Grissom began to compile in his mind
the possible evidence that had been gathered at the
crime scene. He was about to enter the conference
room when the voice of the newscaster caught his
attention. He stopped abruptly in the doorway. His eyes
were drawn to the television mounted to the ceiling in the
corner of the room. The familiar figure of Paula Francis
was on the screen.
"We have a breaking story here... A Las Vegas criminalist
has been abducted from her home. We go now to Shane
Green at the scene."
The screen crossed over to show the driveway leading to
Catherine's home, sealed from the public and inquiring
media by the customary yellow and black crime scene
tape. The dark-haired reporter launched into his
presentation.
"Initial reports are that Sara Side, a criminalist with the Las
Vegas Police Department was abducted from this house this
morning together with the nine year old daughter of a
colleague. Details are sketchy at this stage and there is no
information as to whether the abduction is related to a current
case under investigation."
Grissom entered the conference room as the reporter
said his last sentence. He grabbed the television control
from off the table and pressed the button. The screen
turned blank and all eyes turned to him before quickly
dropping to avoid direct contact.
He was the last of his team to enter. Silence greeted
him. As Grissom sat down, he swept his eyes over them
all. Warrick's body was pitched forward, elbows resting
on the table, downcast eyes scanning the evidence
before him. Nick was slumped in his seat, fingering the
edge of the file. He was obviously avoiding the contents,
avoiding the reality that the crime had touched one of
their own. Greg was also slumped down in his chair, his
quietness a clue to how the very nature of this crime
affected him. Then there was Brass, his normally laid-
back attitude zinged with energy, determination filling his
rounded face.
It was obvious that he needed to make his team a team.
They were missing two key members, which was
seriously affecting them all. But if they were to continue
to process this crime, they would need to operate
cohesively and with the precision of a well-oiled machine.
Grissom realised that he was going to have to be the oil
to keep the machine working smoothly.
"Catherine's sister is staying with her. What I want to do
is run a chronology of the crime scene and what we have
so far. Warrick, let's start with you."
Warrick looked up, his eyes blinking a moment as he
absorbed the request. "The tire tracks I found on the
road are unusual. They match with Goodyear Eagle F1.
While designed to fit a wide range of vehicles, the make
was only released two weeks ago on the market.
Another interesting point is the width of the tires. The
prints match a 225/50ZR16 tire. Not a commonly used
size by the average consumer. I've got Travis chasing
up the local dealers for details of all recent sales on this
tire."
Warrick pulled out the photograph of the tire track he had
obtained from the scene. The blown up shot clearly
showed the tread and its rather unique pattern. He also
produced a copy of a recent promotional piece by the
company which detailed the pattern. A perfect visual
match.
"The other tire impressions I found were in the driveway
and in the centre of the road. Whoever it was reversed
out of there like a bat out of hell. Left perfect prints on
the driveway, although the tread is common to many four
cylinder vehicles - Aquatred 3. But one of the left tires
has a nail in it." Again, Warrick placed the photographs
on the table in front of him with the comparative match.
"Slow leak," Nick murmured under his breath, relieved at
having something to tie the kidnapper to the crime.
"Once we have the suspect's vehicle that evidence is
going to be crucial," Grissom pointed out. "Nick."
Nick sat up at the sound of his name, pulling himself
immediately into action. "Greg's still working on the DNA
from the cigarette butt against the blood you found at the
house. It'll be a few more hours before we'll have a
comparison."
Nick tossed out some crime scene photographs, using
his pen to point to each individual one as he detailed the
contents. "Footprints on the door were size ten and
twelve. One had part of the maker's name left in the
imprint. They're handmade Italian imports. Sold in
Vegas only to Vincenetti's. Tried to get details of the
customers, but the owner is refusing to give anything
without a warrant. Brass is working on it." Nick nodded
towards the rotund homicide detective.
"Should have it within twenty minutes. I've got Sam
seeing the judge as we speak," Brass informed them.
Nick continued, pushing the overlapping photographs
apart and pulling the ones he wanted to the top of the
pile. "The other footprints in the house can all be
accounted for except for two. One was partially in the
blood on the floor and the other was found in the hallway.
They're not a match to the two on the door."
"So we have four unidentified assailants," Grissom said
to no one in particular, momentarily lost in thought. He
caught himself quickly, not allowing his personal
involvement to possibly jeopardise the investigation.
Looking towards Brass, Brass picked up immediately on
what he wanted.
"Sam in the process of tracing a recording of the 911 call.
It may give us more to go on. Interviews with neighbours
haven't revealled much," Brass told them, tapping his
gold pen against the folder in his lap. "Most weren't
home at the time we did a door to door knock. We'll
have to go back later tonight to follow up. However, one
woman recalled hearing a scream. She went out to take
a look, but only saw a car reversing out of Catherine's
driveway and speeding off."
"Any better description?" Grissom asked, grasping for the
possibility of a stronger lead in which to trace the
suspects.
"Red Toyota Corolla. She only got part of the registration
plate," Brass told him, happy to provide an ounce of relief
to the man who had once been his sub-ordinate. He had
noted the waxed look to Grissom's features and knew
that the investigation was weighing down on him heavily.
"I take it you're running a trace," Grissom said, his eyes
questioning Brass over the top of the glasses perched on
the end of his nose.
"As we speak."
"Greg," Grissom said his name curtly, his tone trying to
convey that he wanted answers not expositions.
"The blood on the coffee table and floor was a type
match for Sara's. The one in the hallway was different..."
"How'd you get a comparison?" Warrick broke into the
dissertation and sat up straight, his mind trying to come
up with an explanation.
"The blood on the paper towels from Eddie's attack on
her last night," Grissom told the group calmly.
"Oh... Is this tied in to what happened last night?" Nick
asked, his face genuinely surprised. It had not even
crossed his mind that the two could be related.
"I believe so. I spoke with Catherine earlier," Grissom
informed them. "Eddie came to ask Catherine for money
last night. He was being hounded for twenty thousand
dollars."
"So we know who has Sara and Lindsey." Warrick
immediately felt relief that they were going to be able to
find them soon. Eddie would be able to provide them
with the name of the extortionist and it would all be
finished.
"No. Eddie never said who he owed the money to and
she can't find him now," Grissom informed them matter-
of-factly, despite the fact his insides were churning as to
how close they could be to finding the two.
"And she didn't ask?" Nick queried.
"No. She didn't realise that Lindsey was in danger."
"Damn." Warrick said, his closed fist hitting the top of the
conference table with force.
"Warrick." Grissom's tone pulled the younger man back
into line.
"Sorry, Griss. It's just..." Warrick searched for words to
explain how he was feeling, how he was thinking about
Catherine and what she would be experiencing right now.
"I can only imagine how Catherine's feeling right now....
wishing she had asked."
"We've got leads... we all know how important the first
hours are in a kidnapping. There's a tap on Catherine's
phone... " Brass began reassuring the group. A knock on
the window interrupted him.
Red-haired Sheriff Mobley stood in the doorway. "Gil,
can I speak to you for a moment."
Grissom rose slowly from his seat. He recalled Brass'
warning earlier that morning. Behind the Sheriff,
Grissom narrowed his eyes when he noticed that Conrad
Ecklie was hanging around like a bad smell. While
Grissom could cope with most decomposing matter,
Ecklie's vampiristic attachment to cases in the media
spotlight managed to break through even his cast iron
resistance. He realised that Brass had called the shots
accurately. He was prepared for the impending battle
ahead. Keeping a tight rein on the anger boiling
precariously below the surface, he excused himself from
his team.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Catherine, here's some tea," Jennifer McNab placed the
steaming brew under her sister's nose. She had tried to
get Catherine to lie down and sleep, to no avail. Tear
tracks marred the usually perfect make-up and red eyes
greeted her whenever they looked up to meet her own.
Catherine wrapped her long fingers around the large mug
with a cartoon on the front. Something about all the good
men being either married or gay. The joke hardly
registered in her fog-laden brain. She sipped the brew
and the sharp sweetness got her attention.
"How many sugars did you put in that?" Catherine asked,
pushing the tea away and shaking her head in disgust.
"Three and you need it, so drink up." Jennifer pushed the
drink back towards her.
The sharp trill of Catherine's cell phone broke their
impasse.
"I'll answer it. You drink some of that tea," Jennifer
commanded her younger sister. It wasn't often that she
took control. Catherine recognised the impenetrable
wall and slowly sipped the sickly, sweet tea.
Jennifer moved from her seat and picked up the cell
phone on the kitchen bench.
"Hello," Jennifer answered. She broke off as she was
rudely interrupted. "I'll get her for you."
Jennifer walked the phone over to Catherine. She
handed her sister the small portable phone, saying softly
"Someone asking for you."
"Who is it?"
"Don't know. Ask them." Jennifer sat down and listened
unabashedly to the one-sided conversation.
"Catherine Willows." Catherine answered the phone more
tentatively, the abduction of her daughter making her
suspicious of everything and everyone around her.
"Mommy."
"Lindsey!" Catherine leaned back in her seat with a
sense of relief. Her daughter was alive! "Are you all
right? Are you hurt?"
"No, Mommy. I've had KFC and ice cream and they've
let me watch Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets,"
Lindsey detailed excitedly, the words were strung
together almost as if they were one . "Mommy, Sara was
hurt."
"Is Sara okay?" Catherine asked, fear for her colleague
flooding her words.
"Sara isn't here, Mommy. They left her in the house.
She was bleeding..." Lindsey's voice suddenly cut off
mid-sentence to be replaced with a deep-set, villainous
one.
"That's enough. Now you know she's alive and being
treated okay. It's your turn..."
"Where's Sara?" Catherine interrupted the man. The
words that Lindsey had said were beginning to sink
through the thankfulness that her daughter had not been
harmed. "What've you done with her? "
"Sara? Who's Sara?"
"The woman who was with my daughter when you took
her. You'd hurt her."
"She was one tough cookie. Nearly took out two of my
guys. Wished she was on my side..." There was almost
an air of wistfulness in the tone as the admiration for
Sara's actions. " We left her on the floor. She was
unconscious."
Catherine was worried. If the man's words were correct,
then who had taken Sara?
The deep voice broke through her thoughts. "Enough of
this. It's your turn to return the favour for us keeping
your daughter safe. We want our money and we want it
today. You tell that low-life husband..."
"Ex-husband," Catherine automatically corrected him, her
hand slapping instantly over her mouth the instant the
words were said. The nature of their exact relationship
was unimportant right now.
"Ex-husband of yours that if I don't have the cash by 9.00
a.m. tomorrow, things may not be so nice for your little
girl." The deep resonating voice continued as if she
hadn't interrupted, other than the correction to his words.
"You do anything to her and you'll pay..."
"No, the reason we have her is so that you will," the
intimidating voice reminded her. "We want our twenty
thousand by 9.00 a.m tomorrow."
"How do I know where to pay the money?"
"Ask your husband."
"But I can't find him..." Catherine found that she was
talking to a dead line... the call had been disconnected
before she could tell them. She held onto the phone
numbly, shocked at the content of the call sinking in.
Despair filled her as she realised that her ability to
comply with the request was impossible. Not from a
financial standpoint, but because she didn't know who
Eddie owed the money to.
"Cath, what happened? What did they say? When's
Lindsey coming home?" Jennifer was desperate for her
sister to break free of her horrified trance and speak.
She knew that this call had placed her sister in more
troubled waters, but needed to know the full implications
in order to support her through this crisis.
Catherine tuned out her sister's questions, twisting the
phone over in her hand. She tried to swallow down the
heavy ball of fear that was clogging her throat. Despite
the fact that she thought she had cried herself dry,
Catherine found tears filling her eyes once again.
Lindsey was okay, but she was in immediate danger.
The kidnappers threat was not an idle one. Sara was
missing. Shaking her head, wanting some reassurance,
Catherine hit number one on her speed dial.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
As soon as Sheriff Mobley saw Grissom approaching he
pulled his shoulders back, imagining that his large, barrel
chest would provide him with more clout. He found
himself at a loss to know how to control this investigator
who challenged his authority, caring more for the solving
of cases than the political ramifications of some of his
investigations.
"Why did I have to find out about the kidnapping of one
of *your* CSIs from the media?" Mobley fired the
question the moment that Grissom had shut the
conference door behind him.
"I sent an email advising you of the situation," Grissom
told him shortly.
"I don't check my email so early in the morning. You
could have phoned me," Mobley pointed out.
Grissom raised one eyebrow in response. He knew that,
but kept his face neutral so as not to confirm precisely
what he had avoided doing.
Mobley chose to ignore the possibility that Grissom had
thought to phone him and decided not to. "So who are
the victims... I missed catching those details with all the
questions being thrown at me this morning."
"Sara Sidle and Lindsey Willows."
"Sidle I know. The other one - any relative of Catherine
Willows?"
"Daughter," Grissom answered shortly.
"Ecklie's team will have to take over the case. You're all
to close to this one," Mobley determined, his tone
begging for no argument.
"No."
"Gil..." Ecklie began, speaking for the first time.
"Brian, the first twelve hours in a kidnapping are crucial.
By the time Ecklie's team finds their asses, it'll be almost
that deadline and it'll be 'home time' for his crew and
they'll pack up and come back tomorrow. That is just not
happening," Grissom told him aggressively.
There was only one other time that Mobley had been
witness to Grissom's wrath. The Strip Strangler case and
Grissom's assessment had been accurate on that
account.
"Grissom, you are out of line..." Ecklie began, but his
words were ignored.
"Brian, these people are too important. I'm not risking
them in someone else's hands." Grissom refused to
back down.
"My people are excellent investigators," Ecklie told
Mobley.
"Back off, Ecklie. This is my case," Grissom turned his
back on the obnoxious man. A moment later though, he
turned and acknowledged his presence. "Although, I
could use one of your staff. Toby Wright."
"You don't want my team, just one of them."
"For now," Grissom agreed.
"Gil, I can suspend you right now." Sheriff Mobley
warned, seeking to get control over the situation once
again. Somehow, it had all gone very differently from
what he had imagined, as had every other stand-off he
had had with Grissom.
"Suspend me and I'll leave after I find them," Grissom
warned. "And I'm going to find them. I've got a feeling
that the rest of my team might just follow suit on this one.
Brian, we have the case under control. We've got
several leads that we're chasing up right now." Grissom
broke off his argument as his cell phone began to ring.
He excused himself from the two other men.
"Grissom," he answered curtly. "Catherine, slow down.
Take a breath. Okay, now tell me."
He listened intently as Catherine slowly related the story
of Lindsey's telephone call and the threat that had re-
affirmed the contents of the ransom note.
"Sara's not with her? Are you sure?" Grissom was
confused. If Sara wasn't with Lindsey, what had
happened to her? "Have you been able to find Eddie?"
"Okay, come in and we'll go over the information and try
to pinpoint what could've happened," Grissom instructed,
finishing the call.
Sheriff Mobley and Ecklie were both about to continue
their discussion when Mandy came rushing towards
them, a swath of print-outs in her hands.
"Mr. Grissom."
"Yes, Mandy." Grissom turned to face the fingerprint
expert.
"The fingerprint - I've got a match."
"Who?"
"Eddie Willows."
End Part 5/?