Enmity

By EB

©2004

Chapter Six

After two more days, Nick was pronounced well enough to go home. Gil was no closer to an explanation for Nick's illness. If it was poison, he hadn't found the substance yet. If it was not, he could only hope either the hospital labs or even the CDC would uncover it.

And an upswing in their case load meant he could no longer fiddle on the sidelines as he'd been doing, either. Nick was out at least another week, barring yet another relapse, and they needed all available hands on board. So when the contents of Nick's locker yielded a few more possibilities, Gil reluctantly added Sanders and Hodges to the growing list of people who knew his suspicions.

"This is after you finish your official work," he told them, eyeing each in turn. "And it may be a wild goose chase. Probably is. But until we've ruled out everything Nick could possibly have come in contact with, we're not done."

Greg's expression hadn't eased from his initial shock at Gil's news. "You really think someone's trying to poison him?"

Hodges shook his head. "Doesn't make any sense," he said slowly.

"I agree." Gil nodded. "But the two of you are the best chemists we have on staff. If you have any ideas, my door is open any time."

The two techs gave him identical unnerved looks and nodded.

On Monday morning Gil brought Nick to the townhouse. He'd had a few second thoughts about his invitation, mostly borne of his long-term acclimation to living alone, but one look at Nick's wan, drawn face and he'd wrestled those down. Nick had the look of someone now chronically ill, and if he didn't need 24-hour nursing care any longer, clearly he was not ready to be alone yet, either.

"I stocked up on a few things." He threw his keys in the tray by the door and glanced at Nick. "You hungry?"

Nick shook his head. "Not really. Listen, you didn't have to go to any trouble."

"It's not trouble. Don't worry about it."

He got him an Ensure anyway, but Nick only sipped it before finally sighing. "You care if I crash for a while?" His voice was still raspy, not quite his usual tone. "Kinda tired."

"Of course not."

It was a matter of a few minutes to show Nick where his room was, the extra towels in the guest bathroom, spare rolls of toilet paper. And then Gil left him to it.

Greg called late that afternoon. "That's a big zipola on the locker stuff," he said, disappointment obvious in his voice. "I thought maybe the protein powder, but it's just as advertised. Same with everything else."

"Okay. Thanks, Greg. It was worth a shot."

"How's Nick?"

Gil smiled. "Sleeping right now. His doctor said to keep him on liquid foods until he gets his feet back under him." The smile slipped. "Greg, are you still at work?"

"Aw, no big deal." Greg sounded abashed. "Nick's a good guy, you know? Me and Hodges both stuck around. I think he's taking it kinda personally that he can't figure out what this is."

"We all are, I suppose. Well, good work. Both of you. At least now we have more to add to the list of what we know it isn't."

"Yeah. Okay."

As he hung up the phone, he spied his address book lying on the end table. Considering, Gil picked it up, flipping through it. One name made him pause. What time was it in Rockville? After work hours, certainly, although he didn't think they paid any more attention to that at the FDA than right here in Vegas.

It took two calls and half a dozen transfers to connect. But hearing that heavily German-accented voice was a startling relief.

"Hi, Ernst. It's Gil Grissom."

A pause, and then Glockner said, "Gil? What on earth?"

"I know, it's been a very long time. How are you?"

"Ah, gut, und dir, mein Freund?"

Gil smiled. "Well, thank you. Is this a good time?"

"Of course it is. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"A personal favor, if you're willing."

"Ask away."

It took longer to explain than usual, since Ernst's questions were immediate and crisp, all business. "An escalating pattern, you say? How long?"

"About six weeks."

"What have you ruled out?"

Gil sighed. "Everything I can think of, Ernst. It's why I'm calling you. I haven't got a clue what this could be. And you wrote the book on toxicology. Literally."

"Hmm, yes." Glockner sounded distracted, formidable mind still mulling over what Gil had said. "So. You suspect long-term low-level poisoning, not intended to kill? Only to wound, as it were?"

"It's the best theory I have at the moment, yes."

"Many suspects. You've ruled out chemicals, yes?"

"Nothing abnormal shows up on mass spectrometry."

"Have you considered plant toxins?"

Gil sat back. "Not seriously. Most would be too toxic for most people to survive."

"Did you read my paper two years ago on detecting ricin contamination in foods?"

"No. Ricin? Ernst, we had a case of ricin poisoning not so very long ago, right here in Las Vegas." He shook his head slowly. "But our victim isn't dead. Debilitated, but not dead."

Glockner gave an eloquent snuffle, and replied, "Perhaps you have not yet identified your toxin because it is a protein. Hidden amongst all the others, like the one grain of wheat in so much chaff. Your testing would not detect such a thing unless you were looking for it, and even then would be difficult to find."

Gil swallowed. "I would have dismissed it," he said faintly. "Too toxic. My god."

"One would have to be very careful, true. Too much, and pfft. But just enough, and it's possible. Worth a look, ja?"

"Ja."

"Send me a sample. I can have a look."

"I will. Jesus. Thank you, Ernst."

"Kein Problem, junge. Freut mich."

His hands shook as he hung up and dialed another number. Greg picked up on the third ring.

"I have another theory," Gil said, his free hand clenching into a fist. "How soon can you get over here?"

"No way." Greg gaped at him. "That stuff is like -- No way."

"An hour ago I would have agreed with you." Gil led the way to the guest bedroom. "Right now I'm not so sure." He tapped on the door, and stuck his head in. "Nicky?"

Nick was an unmoving lump on the bed. After Gil shook him a couple of times, his eyes opened, gazing blearily at them. "Huh?"

"Greg's gonna take a blood sample."

"Greg?" Nick stared at Greg. "Do you know how to do that?"

"Ha, ha." Greg circled around the other side of the bed. "Grissom, you mind turning on the light? Or I could just stick him aimlessly for a while, for that comment."

Smiling, Gil hit the light switch.

"Thought outside the hospital I wouldn't get poked so damn often," Nick grumbled, sitting up. He reached up to rub his eyes.

"Just take a second." Greg moved confidently, and was as good as his word: he had two vials drawn before Nick had time to really wake up. "There," he said, popping the tourniquet with a flourish. "Didn't even hurt."

"Where'd you learn to do that?" Nick asked, bending his arm to hold a cotton ball against the tiny puncture wound.

"Told you a long time ago. Phlebotomy while I was in grad school."

"Could teach one of my nurses a thing or two."

"Always. Oh, you meant about taking blood."

"Hah." Nick's smile disappeared when he glanced up at Gil. "So what's this all about?"

Gil drew a deep breath. "A theory. A dark-horse candidate, but worth a shot."

"You think you know what's making me sick?"

"Possibly." Gil glanced at Greg. "Call me?"

"Sure. I'll start the assay when I get back to the lab. Shouldn't take too long."

"Good."

After Greg left, Gil met Nick's nervous gaze. "Why don't we talk in the living room?"

"Okay."

He got another liquid supplement for Nick, and snagged a cup of coffee for himself, while Nick put on jeans and wandered out to sit on the couch. With a sigh Nick took his Ensure and eyed it gloomily. "Does it mean I'm feeling better if I say I'd rather have coffee?"

"Sure it does."

"Okay. I'd rather have coffee."

"Drink it anyway."

Nick sipped, and gave him a look. "So what's your theory?"

"I ruled out a number of toxins early on, because they're so powerful I assumed you would not have survived them. They seemed highly improbable."

Nick nodded slowly, looking shocked. "You changed your mind."

"Remember the ricin case two years ago?"

"Yeah."

"Ricin's a protein. Proteins are tougher to find because –"

"—it's a needle in the haystack, yeah." Nick nodded absently. "Interrupts protein synthesis."

Gil sat back. "Exactly."

"You're telling me you think somebody's giving me RICIN?" Nick shook his head vigorously. "After what we saw two years ago? How am I ALIVE?"

"I don't have an answer for that yet. I called an old friend at the FDA. Ernst Glockner. Toxicologist."

"Okay," Nick said cautiously. "And?"

"He mentioned plant toxins. And since he's an acknowledged expert on ricin in foods, if he says it's possible to dose someone without actually killing them, I believe it."

"It would cause –"

"The uncontrolled vomiting, the diarrhea. Absolutely."

Nick didn't say anything to that. His pale face got paler, and Gil swallowed a sudden surge of helpless pity. "I'm sorry, Nicky," he said gently. "I wish I could think of another way to say it."

"But who?" Nick whispered. "I mean, why? What'd I do to anybody? It's not like you can go out and buy this shit at Walgreen's, you know? Somebody had to make it."

Gil nodded. "And deliver it. Which is another question, and one I'm even further from answering."

"Jesus." Nick's gaze dropped to his hands, clutching his little can of Ensure. "So what you're saying is, I oughta be dead."

"We don't know this for sure yet, Nicky. It may not be ricin."

"Am I gonna get better?" Nick asked huskily. "I feel better."

"As long as we can keep you from receiving another dose? You'll be fine."

Nick gave a tight nod. "And if I get some more?"

Gil sat for a moment without answering. Finally he nodded. "I think it'll be worse," he said quietly. "Maybe quite a bit worse."

Nick didn't say a word to that. Gil waited a few more beats, and finally lumbered on. "When you're feeling stronger, I'd like you to go through your old files. Any cases you've worked that involved suspects or victims with chemistry backgrounds, biology, biochemistry. See if anything jumps out at you."

Nick shook his head slowly. "Done nothing but think about that lately. I don't remember anything that specific. The ricin case. But she died."

"It could be more subtle. The case might not have seemed pertinent. But it's worth a shot."

"I don't have a clue." Nick's bleak eyes regarded him. "You don't, either, do you?"

It stung more than he'd thought it would, and probably more than Nick planned. Gil gave a curt shake of his head. "I don't have a theory yet, no. Clues, we have."

"What? Because I'm not seeing a lot."

Gil sighed. "You, Nick," he said softly. "You're the biggest clue. If I can figure out the why, why you, then I'll know the who."

"You sure about that?"

"As sure as I can be," Gil replied honestly.

TBC. EB