A/N: This is the second post for this chapter. I had to make a couple of tiny changes.
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After interviewing Grissom, the investigators had decided to call it a day and agreed to return first thing in the morning. Sara didn't look forward to facing the outgoing night shift as she came in to work. It didn't help matters that she hadn't slept much; she was accustomed to sleeping during the day rather than at night. She rounded the bend in the corridor that took her to the locker room when the voices reached her ears.
"I'm the senior CSI!" Catherine groused. "This should be my case."
Warrick offered the voice of reason. "None of us in our right minds would touch this with a ten foot pole."
"Gil needs me. I'm going to Cavallo." As Catherine stormed out of the locker room, she ran right into Sara.
"I didn't want this case, Catherine. I tried to decline it."
"They should have let Grissom choose," Nick added from behind them.
"They did," Sara informed them without emotion.
"Sorry," Nick apologized. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded."
Catherine softened a bit. "So, how's it going? Can you nail her yet?"
"It's an open investigation," was all Sara offered in reply.
"Is Ecklie looking to crucify Grissom?"
"He doesn't seem to be. I'm watching him, though."
Catherine gave her colleague a nod. "Good."
"Sidle!" Ecklie voice rang out as he approached the group. "Ready to get started? We have a lot to do."
"Ready."
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"We got the warrant for the townhouse," Ecklie informed Sara. "Let's process the car first. While you do that, I'll go to the grocery store and the alleged crime scene and check around to see if anyone saw anything."
Sara moved methodically through Grissom's vehicle. She found it odd that in four years, she'd only ridden in it once two weeks ago, and that certainly hadn't been under the best of circumstances. He'd driven her home because he felt obligated, not because he wanted to.
The interior was clean, cleaner even than she would have expected. It did not appear, however, that he had specially cleaned it after the incident with Megan Phillips. No fresh Armor All on the dashboard, no vacuum grooves. Unfortunately, she couldn't use that to help Grissom; he was a forensic expert, and would know that she would be looking for that sort of thing. She found the expected occasional gray curl on the driver's side. The fingerprints she lifted were likely hers, Megan's and Grissom's. The surrealism of lifting her own prints as evidence sent a shudder coursing through her. On the passenger side, she found several longer hairs. She could presume that the darker ones were her own, while the light brown ones belonged to Megan. She dropped them into carefully marked bindles and marked them accordingly.
Moving to the back, she stifled a gasp when she found a blanket, neatly folded, tucked away next to the toolbox. Relief washed over her when, upon closer inspection, it appeared to be an accessory to the first aid kit. It was an institutional type blanket, dark green and clean enough to have never been used. She examined it carefully, looking for signs of wear or washes, and found none. She found no blood, no semen and no leaves or dirt. Of course, this was only a brief visual inspection; they would have to look at it more closely in the lab. Sara bagged and tagged the blanket, then stepped back, satisfied that she had processed the car thoroughly.
"Find anything?" Ecklie asked as he returned.
Sara shrugged. "Some hairs, some prints. Nothing surprising since we already know she was in the car. I did find a blanket, but it looks clean. I'll see that it's checked carefully. How about you? Find anything?"
"Well, we got a bag boy who saw her getting into the car with him. He's not at work at this hour, but they gave me his number and I talked to him at home. At the housing development, we have a construction worker who says he saw something. Sounds significant. I'm having him come in so we can interview him together." He looked over the evidence Sara collected from the car. "Good work."
"When, uh, when is he coming in?" Sara tried to camouflage her anxiety. What could the construction worker have seen?
"Not until this afternoon. Let's get an early lunch so we have plenty of fortitude when he have to invade Gil's place."
"I think we'd have to drink our lunch to be ready for that," Sara said dryly.
Lunch with Conrad Ecklie wasn't as distasteful as Sara imagined it would be. He wasn't the best company she'd ever had, but he kept the conversation flowing even though the subject matter that interested him didn't hold Sara's attention. To his credit, he seemed to be making a genuine effort to investigate the case impartially, and for that she was grateful.
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Grissom puttered anxiously around his townhouse. He expected that at any moment two crime scene investigators and one uniformed police officer would be arriving on his doorstep and peering into everything he held private and dear. How had he gotten into this? What did that woman have against him, anyway? He would never physically harm any woman. Having been raised by a single mother as a strong role model, he had nothing but respect for the gender.
He suspected there were times that one woman in particular had felt he was disrespectful to her. How could he ever explain to her that it was precisely because he cared for her and had so much respect for her that he had mistreated her in some ways? That thought made no sense in his own mind, so he held out little hope for it making sense to her. And now his fate may be in her hands. Surely the fact that he had chosen her as the CSI he trusted most must tell her how he really regarded her; at least he hoped it did.
All of his adult life had been spent carefully crafting the art of isolation; isolation from the prying minds of others, isolation from the pain of being misunderstood, isolation from needing another human being. Today, however, he feared he would end up feeling exposed. They would come into his home, his sanctuary, and look for evidence against him. They would uncover every detail of his private life. And one of 'them' was Sara.
He couldn't hold the intrusion against her. After all, he had chosen her. Maybe she would learn nothing more about him, or maybe she would learn details he'd painstakingly hidden from her and everyone else. Her admonition to him to read the transcript of the Havilland trial kept echoing through his head. Why did she feel it was important? He assumed she'd been asked the same typed of questions that the others had, and the others had complained endlessly about their ordeals. At the time, he'd been grateful for Sara's silence. He wasn't sure if he could've dealt with her after Gerrard dropped that bombshell about her and the paramedic.
Since he couldn't go to work, and the paper he was writing wasn't flowing well at the moment, he picked up the phone and left a message on Catherine's answering machine. "Catherine, it's Gil. I need a favor. After work in the morning, could you bring me a copy of the transcript of the Havilland trial? Thank you."
After briefly considering cleaning the townhouse, he rejected the idea. He didn't want to appear as though he was hiding something, and even Ecklie would notice the freshly cleaned look. He looked around to see if anything jumped out at him, having no doubt that Sara wouldn't miss a thing. If the tiniest fiber of lint were suspicious, she would find it. On the other hand, maybe she would find the tiniest piece of evidence that would clear him. With a resigned sigh, he realized it would be best to just go about his business and wait for them to arrive.
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Sara lagged behind while Ecklie rang the doorbell at 1000 East Laurel Road. She could think of a million places she'd rather be than right there, right then. As the door creaked open, Ecklie turned to the officer accompanying them. "You can wait in your car if you want. We'll be fine."
Grissom said nothing; he simply opened the door and stood back to allow them to enter. He held out his hand and Ecklie placed the freshly printed warrant in it. Grissom's hands were nearly imperceptibly shaking as he sat on the sofa and read the document. He knew what it said—he'd seen thousands of them—but he needed something for his brain to do while they invaded his sanctum.
For the first time in his life, he felt it was unfortunate that he was an excellent reader; scanning the document didn't fill nearly enough time. He tried his best to disregard Conrad, but Sara's presence, in any capacity, always warranted his attention.
"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked, the words suddenly sounded idiotic to his ears. She wasn't here for a social visit.
"No, thanks." Sara's lips turned up sympathetically.
"I take it my car was clean." It was more of a statement than a question.
To an outsider, it would be difficult to discern which of them felt more awkward. "We, uh, we didn't find anything that we didn't expect to find." Sara thought it wisest at this point to refrain from telling him of the construction worker. For all she knew, the alleged witness would turn out to be completely inconsequential.
"I hate to intrude on the love fest," Ecklie interrupted, "but we need to get to work."
"I'm ready." Sara nodded. Why did he seem to immediately switch gears into jerk mode in Grissom's presence? "Where do you want me to start?"
"Where would Gil have you start?" Ecklie sneered.
Lately? The perimeter. Sara squashed her impending eyeroll. As much as she wanted to respond sarcastically, she would not demean Grissom in front of his nemesis. She still respected him too much for that. "You're the primary," she said flatly.
"Take the bedroom. I'll start in the kitchen."
Oh, lovely, Grissom's bedroom. Sara had fantasized many times what it might be like to be in his bedroom, but she had never imagined these circumstances. She wanted her visit there to be because he wanted her there, not because she had a warrant to serve.
She took a deep breath as she entered the room. Taking it in with her usual eye for detail, she was saddened to realize that this was how she would learn about the man who was undoubtedly meant to be the love of her life. The room was tidy, but not spotless. The bed was unmade. The prints adorning the wall were copies of famous works by Salvador Dali, rather than the butterfly and moth collections in the living room. How did she not know he liked Dali? The Spanish surrealist was her favorite artist as well. She stared wistfully at the bed. The blanket and sheets lay in a heap the way he had pushed them off when rising this morning. She could almost picture him there, sleeping serenely, his arms wrapped around her—Stop it, Sara! You're here to work. Treat this like any other search.
She decided to start with the obvious, stripping the blanket from the bed and bagging it and then doing the same with the two she found in the linen closet. She moved next to the drawers. She found nothing out of the ordinary in the dresser, but the bedside table contained a surprise.
In the top drawer was a case for his glasses, a notepad and pen and a box of condoms. She felt sick at the discovery. Why did he need condoms? It made sense to her that he would need female companionship from time to time, but now that she was faced with the evidence, she wasn't sure how to cope with it. Pangs of jealousy stabbed at her heart. Something about the box seemed odd to her. When her curiosity overcame her disgust, she picked it up and studied. It was unopened. Yes, that was what was odd about it; it was unopened. Small red print on the side of the box caught her attention. Expires April 2002. An unopened box of expired condoms—she was surprised that there wasn't a thick film of dust on it. Suddenly she felt quite a bit better. She put the box back into the drawer with the intention of forgetting she'd seen it.
Finding nothing else of import, and anxious to get out the bedroom, she returned to the living room. Grissom paced like a lion in a cage. Ecklie peered over the kitchen counter. "Find anything?"
"Nothing probative. I bagged the blankets." She held up the bags for Ecklie to see.
Grissom stopped pacing. "Blankets?"
"She said you used a blanket," Sara explained gently.
"Nothing here either," Ecklie admitted. "Did you get the bathroom while you were in there?"
"No, I came out to do the living room."
"All right, I'll go there then."
As Sara worked her way across the living room, she could feel Grissom's eyes boring through her. She knew that this must be unimaginably painful for him. The bookshelves were packed with various textbooks and journals, as well as the anticipated literary classics. She stopped when she came to a photograph just below eye level; the absence of photographs hadn't dawned on her until she'd come across this one. The yellowing of the paper and the clothing and hairstyles of the subjects betrayed it's age. It featured a young woman with a boy who appeared about ten years old. The boy clutched a blue ribbon in his right hand, displaying it triumphantly while the woman looked on proudly.
"That's my mother," Grissom said softly. Sara hadn't realized he was standing behind her until she felt his breath on her neck as he spoke.
"She looks very proud," Sara responded with a smile. "That's you."
"She was proud. That was the first year that I won the Science Fair. I did a Mendelian study with hybrid ants."
Sara's heart swelled with every bit of information that he shared freely. She could easily envision him as the geeky child in the picture, studiously observing his ants. She had never given much thought to Grissom's mother, but it now occurred to her that the nameless Mrs. Grissom must have been a very special woman. Once again, she had to grudgingly remind herself that she was here on business and needed to maintain professional distance. She also shuddered at the thought of Ecklie walking in on them.
Sara replaced her smile with a countenance of concentration and moved away from Grissom to process the other side of the room. As before, there was no evidence to link him with Megan's assault. "Why don't you have an attorney, Grissom? These charges are pretty serious."
He tilted his head slightly and cocked an eyebrow. "I don't need an attorney. I'm trusting the evidence to tell the truth, and the truth to set me free."
"And if it doesn't? Come on, Grissom, we both know that innocent people sometimes go to prison."
"If it looks like I'll be arrested, I'll obtain counsel."
Sara returned the arched eyebrow. "If it were me in this situation, you'd be pushing me to get a lawyer. Funny how what's good for the goose isn't good for the gander. Or should I say, what's good for the gander isn't good for the goose?" She worked as she talked, grateful again for her multi-tasking talent.
Flummoxed, Grissom stood wordlessly. How did she always manage to do that to him? In his entire life, no one else had ever been able to leave him speechless. Put him behind his desk and Sara in the office doorway, and he'd be feeling déjà vu.
Sara finally made her way to the boxes stacked atop the computer desk. She picked one up to read its label.
"Video phone," Grissom explained. "One for me, one for my mom. She hates the TDD, and while e-mail works, it's impersonal at best."
Sara wasn't sure which bit of information to process first: that his mother was still living, or that she needed a TDD. Sara was almost certain that the TDD was a telephone for the deaf, but she made a mental note to research it when she got home.
"As the old midget lady in Poltergeist said," Ecklie announced as he emerged from the bathroom, "this house is clean."
"They're called dwarfs, Conrad." Grissom corrected condescendingly.
"That's quite a way you have with gratitude, Gil," Ecklie smirked. "Let's go, Sidle."
TBC