Disclaimers: see Ch. 1; acknowledgments, see Ch. 7.
It's good to know that this is still working! Thank you all for your generous feedback. Yes, more angst, but remember, I do like happy endings.
Sara was expecting Monday night to be awkward, but to her surprise Catherine handed out assignments. "Grissom said he'd be in a little later," the older woman explained with a shrug. "Something about his being called in on a dayshift case." She handed Nick a slip. "You get an assault downtown. Sara, Warrick, see Brass; apparently something's come in on the Stevens case."
"And what will you be doing?" Warrick drawled, teasing a little. Catherine's grin crinkled.
"I am saving the rest of you from suffering by taking a convenience store robbery. You may thank me later." She swept out dramatically to the sound of chuckles.
Brass was scribbling something on a report form when the two CSIs knocked on his doorframe. "Oh good, you're here," he said, waving them into chairs. "A couple of my boys were checking out Madelyn Stevens' alibi. You're going to want to hear this." The police captain set out a mini tape recorder on his desk; his grim expression warned them that what they would hear would not be pleasant.
The interviewing officer's voice identified the witness as one Jenni Nguyen, sixteen years of age, and Sara remembered her as the second name on Madelyn's list. Her stomach tightened as a high young voice laden with tears stumbled through a confused story of Madelyn leaving the game early on the night of her stepfather's death; a few hours later she had turned up at Jenni's house and demanded that the older girl hide the plastic shopping bag that Madelyn had brought with her, and say nothing to anyone.
Brass shut off the tape. "Madelyn should have picked someone else. Officer Quinn said that Jenni started looking guilty the second he showed up, and it only took her about thirty seconds to break down."
"What was in the bag?" Sara asked, though she could hazard a guess.
"She didn't have it." Brass' head jerked in his small exasperated tic. "She said she stashed it in the shed out behind her house, but there was nothing there when Quinn went to check. We've got some uniforms canvassing the area right now." As if on cue, his phone rang.
The two CSIs exchanged glances and started to get up, but Brass motioned for them to stay. A brief conversation later, he hung up the phone. His face was still grim, but there was satisfaction there too. "Now isn't that convenient. A trash man just turned in a bag with a bloody towel to police headquarters." He stood up. "You two coming?"
The slender little man at the station didn't look strong enough to be tossing around laden garbage cans, but Sara noted the wiry tendons running up his arms and figured he was tougher than he looked. "I saw it when we hit Fifty-Third and Vine," he explained, naming an intersection two blocks from the Nguyen household. "It fell off the truck, and when I picked it back up, I saw all the blood on the towel, and I figured you guys might want to take a look."
Sara and Warrick bent over the bag, scarcely noticing the clinging scent of ripe garbage; their evidence had been placed inside a cleaner, larger bag, but the smell was persistent. Warrick pulled heavy forceps from his vest and carefully pulled up the top fold of the towel, whose original faded yellow color was all but lost under the rusty red-brown of dried blood.
"Did you look in the bag?" Brass asked, and the man shook his head.
"Nope. We were running late, and then when I got home I found out my sister was in labor, and I forgot all about bringing it in until now." He grinned, a happy look. "Twin boys."
Brass smiled back, genuinely pleased for a moment. "Congratulations." He glanced over at the two CSIs. "One of you want to get his prints?"
"Don't need to," the trash man said. "I was wearing gloves when I picked it up, and I put it in the other bag and never took it out."
Brass' brows went up. "Good thinking. But we'll need 'em anyway, just to be on the safe side."
Sara and Warrick traded glances, and she pulled off her gloves and got the fingerprinting gear from her kit. The trash man held out his hands obediently, and she was halfway through the second set of fingers when Warrick spoke. "Sara. When you have a minute..."
His voice was easy, but she could hear the tension underneath it. She finished with the trash man and sent him on his way with thanks, and returned to the two-man huddle over the bag; Brass stepped back as she reached it, and she leaned in. Warrick hadn't undone the entire towel, choosing to wait until it was back in the lab and in a more controlled setting, but he had pushed past the towel and the blood-spattered blouse within it, and his forceps now gripped the blade of a serrated kitchen knife, clotted with blood.
Sara let a curse slip past her lips, and Warrick shot her a sympathetic look. "Can't hardly blame her, if she was telling the truth about what he was doing to her," the taller man commented.
"Unfortunately, we have to," Brass said heavily.
"You want me to report in to Grissom?" Warrick asked when they returned to the lab, and Sara was sorely tempted.
"No," she said reluctantly. Technically she was the lead on this case, given that Grissom had withdrawn from it; though she and Warrick rarely bothered with such formalities when working together, it was her responsibility to update their supervisor. "I'll do it."
Warrick patted her shoulder and left to deal with their evidence, and Sara made her way to Grissom's office. The door was shut when she reached it--unusual but not unheard of--so she knocked.
There was a long pause, and then Grissom's voice. "Come in."
Sara opened the door, and stopped in surprise. There were two people in the room, Grissom and a woman Sara recognized as the president of the college for the Deaf. The woman swung around, her frown lightening only slightly at the sight of Sara. "Uh--sorry, Grissom," Sara began. "I didn't know you had a visitor." She gave Dr. Gilbert an awkward wave. "Hi."
"Ms. Sidle," the president replied in her muffled voice, her expression and tone both chilly.
"What is it, Sara?" Grissom asked, his gaze sharpening as he took in the stiffness of her shoulders.
"More evidence in the Stevens case," she reported. "It's in analysis now, but it looks probative."
"Good." Grissom nodded. "We should be through in a few minutes, and I'll come find you."
"Okay." Sara waved again and withdrew. What is she doing here? Another murder? It took a lot to make Sara feel uncertain about her professional capacity, but Dr. Gilbert had managed it pretty well when they'd first met, lambasting both Sara and Warrick for their lack of manners. The fact that the two CSIs would not necessarily be knowledgeable about Deaf etiquette had made no difference to the woman, but Sara had felt that her criticism had been somewhat justified. The two of them could have done some research before going to see Dr. Gilbert.
Of course, the interpreter could have clued us in too, Sara thought dryly. And then there was the whole puzzle of Grissom knowing sign language--one that Sara now realized had been at least partially solved for her. Sara herself, curious and unwilling to let possibly useful knowledge pass by, had signed up for an introductory signing course last year, but its schedule had been changed before she had had a chance to learn much, and she hadn't had an opportunity since to find one with better timing. Sometimes working night shift really sucks.
She found Warrick in the layout room, examining the knife. The towel and blouse lay to one side, along with a spattered pair of jeans. "I'm just about to start printing this," he said as Sara came in. "You mind running those samples to Greg?"
"No problem." Sara picked up the blood samples. "Is Jacqui on tonight?"
Warrick didn't raise his head, but his lips curled in a grin. "Sure is. Don't worry, Sar, we won't screw this up."
She laughed, and went to find the DNA tech.
When she came back, Grissom and Warrick were bent over the blouse, but both men straightened as she entered. "You were right, Sara," Grissom said, his voice carrying both approval and regret. "This definitely looks probative."
"We'll have to wait on the prints," Warrick added. "But we should be able to request a warrant by the end of shift."
Sara grimaced. "Right." She pulled on fresh gloves and unfolded the towel with care. Warrick's beeper went off, and he glanced at it and then excused himself. Sara expected Grissom to leave as well, but he went on examining the blouse, and Sara decided to try to satisfy her curiosity. He's been nicer than usual ever since we got back, after all. "So what did Dr. Gilbert want?" she asked casually, clicking on a handlight to get a better look at the towel.
"A favor," Grissom replied absently, peering closely at the fabric. Sara opened her mouth to ask another question, but Grissom surprised her by continuing. "One of her students died under suspicious circumstances. His family's in town for his graduation, and Dr. Gilbert wanted me to take the case along with dayshift."
He didn't have to explain why. "Are you going to?" Sara asked.
He sighed without looking up. "I think I have to. That is, if the director will allow it."
"Like he won't," Sara muttered under her breath. The lab director was as politically oriented as the Sheriff. Having someone who could interact with a minority group over a potentially eye-catching case would be so attractive that Sara wouldn't put it past the man to order Grissom to take it once he found out.
Half an hour later Jacqui beeped Sara to the print lab. "We have a match," she said, handing Sara the printout. Her usual satisfaction was missing; somehow the details of the case had made the rounds of the lab, as they sometimes did, and there was no triumph in solving this one.
Sara took the folder. "It's Madelyn?"
The fingerprint tech nodded soberly. "Prints all over the handle and two on the blade. Did he really..."
"We haven't got the results back from the rape kit yet," Sara answered as Jacqui trailed off. "But that reminds me, I need to go see Greg."
Greg was not in his lab, and when Sara checked the time she realized that he was probably off getting lunch. But a file folder sat on one pristine counter, with her name and Warrick's printed in bold lettering. What was inside told her all she needed to know.
She swallowed against a faint swell of nausea, and called Brass.
Grissom sighed as he tied his shoes. Normally at this time of day he would be winding down, maybe with a beer and some Leoncavallo, but definitely not in a clean shirt and slacks. Sara's muttered comment about the lab director had been right on the money--the man had all but fallen over himself in his eagerness to have Grissom in charge of this particular case. It would be easy enough for Grissom to switch shifts for a few days, if tiring, but--he admitted silently--he didn't want to leave Sara alone. The case she was working was pushing several of her buttons, and it looked like things were about to get worse. She had done so much for him recently. It behooved him to offer all the support he could.
Oh, be honest with yourself, at least. You can't stand to see her hurting. Grissom wondered if she would even accept comfort from him anymore, not that he'd ever been good at it. He hadn't her open heart.
Grimacing at his train of thought, Grissom picked up his keys and headed out. The young man in question, Tony Phillips, was a partially deaf Californian, according to Dr. Gilbert. It appeared he had died of alcohol poisoning after a wild graduation party at the Deaf college, but there were a few anomalies, and Grissom was going to have to work with the dayshift CSIs assigned to the case to see if he could clear them up.
But first, he was going to meet with Tony's family. Mother, father, and aunt, Dr. Gilbert had told him, all devastated by Tony's death. Her fierce eyes and emphatic signing had urged him to step in, to offer the three Deaf people a communications link into the heart of the investigation. He didn't really want the additional responsibility right now, not when he still felt so drained from his mother's death, but here he was anyway.
And when he walked into Dr. Gilbert's office, and met the eyes of the president and Tony's family, Grissom wished all the more that he'd turned the assignment down. There are a lot of Phillips in California, he mused in irony, even as Dr. Gilbert rose to make the introductions. Why these?
Tony's father and mother greeted Grissom sadly, distracted by grief, but Tony's aunt stood and told Dr. Gilbert that no introduction was needed. Grissom recognized her as easily this time as he had just the week before, in the church. Older, more sedate, but still the woman he remembered from twenty years before.
"Irene," he signed politely, and she smiled.
See Chapter 11