Chapter Two
Sara

The drive to the crime scene is hectic. Everyone in Las Vegas hits the streets by seven o'clock to get a great card table, or a slot machine that is rumored to be lucky by eight on the dot. The heavy traffic and the wet roads give me a blinding headache. By the time I reach the alleyway between Julliard and Jackson, I'm restless and frustrated which is a horrible place to be when you're working a new case.

It's all Grissom's fault. He's gone for three weeks without a word, and then comes back annoyed that I maxed out on my overtime. We were swamped almost everyday, so what was I supposed to do? Of course, he didn't understand and he didn't want to understand. I hate it when he just dismisses me like that, and it has been happening for far too long. I thought I saw a familiar spark in his eyes and for one second I thought that perhaps we could have a second chance. But, no, nothing has changed. The proof lies in plain sight.

Now, not only does he throw me into a case on a rainy night, he probably doesn't have any inkling of an idea why I'm upset and didn't accept his 'thank you'. Everything seems to have picked up right where it was left off.

I release a heavy sigh of defeat as I park the SUV next to a squad car.

"Whoa, Sara," Brass says holding up his arms as I approach. "I'm not sure I want you carrying a gun when you look like that."

"Like what?" I snap.

He smirks and gives me a paranoid look. "Like you're really pissed off."

"What do we have?" I ask quickly but immediately take it back. "Sorry, Jim but the night hasn't been a good one."

"No problem." He smiles and it seems to melt my angry exterior away. "Dead female found by the store owner when he was dumping some trash after the rainstorm. She's sitting on the other side of the dumpster, stabbed to death."

I glance towards the owner being interviewed by an officer in black, before directing my attention towards the dumpster. The naked feet and shins come into view. "You said she was sitting up? Did you or the owner move her?"

"I know better than that and there's no way that guy went anywhere near her when he saw all the blood."

A beam of light emits from the end of my flashlight as I round the corner of the dumpster that's blocking my view. Oh, dear God. A young woman, maybe in her late twenties, is slumped against the wall for all to see. Her once blond hair is now red with caked blood. Her face is badly bruised: a broken nose, one eye swollen shut, a busted lip, and a bruise on her chin. Her yellow silk blouse is unbuttoned revealing the first stab wound, then another, and three more. He wasn't finished though, because four more blows were delivered to her abdomen to bring the total to nine. Her pants are completely gone, suggesting rape. The color of her exposed underwear is a sickening dark red and fully saturated by the shallow puddle of blood beneath her. Finishing with all the strength I can manage, I notice there are long whip-like marks across her legs. Some appear to be recent, but most are old in nature.

"Sara, are you okay?"

I turn around. "Huh?"

He seems uncomfortable. "You look a little pale. Are you okay?"

I cannot stop myself from frowning. What? I didn't think it was affecting me that much. I felt in control the entire time as I stated the facts in my head.

"I'm fine," I say quickly with a forced smile.

He nods slowly. "If you are sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," I say still smiling. "I'm going to get to work, Jim."

"It's just you tonight?"

What? Great, now he thinks I'm being unprofessional and he'll hover over me all night. Not to mention when he finds out Grissom is back, I'll probably have to deal with Grissom's disappointment and regret that he gave me a case. I can handle this. They'll see.

"Yeah."

I bend down to my kit and put on my gloves. Brass has yet to leave. I want to sigh in annoyance but he may take it the wrong way. Instead, I begin to snap photos of the crime scene, all the while trying to remain aware of my thoughts and my mouth.

"Did you find her pants anywhere nearby?" I ask snapping a picture of the whip marks.

"No, but I can have someone start combing the dumpster and the alley."

I nod absently. What is that? I get my forceps and carefully pull something that looks like glass from a cut on her face and examine it under my light. It doesn't look like glass anymore, it's too shiny. I bag, catalogue, and move on.

Almost nothing is found, probably because of the rain and the precautions that the killer took. There was nothing under her nails so it seems she didn't have a chance to fight back. A few hairs were on the brick wall behind her, but I'm sure they are the victim's and were pulled out when he dropped her into a sitting position. Around her there are only the usual miscellaneous items that are typical in an alley. I have nothing to print. I'm assuming the dumpster has nothing to do with the crime. After all, why wouldn't the killer have placed her in the dumpster? I look inside, but decide not to bother with prints when I see nothing out of the ordinary.

There is something about the way she is sitting that I just cannot get out of my mind. Her position outside of the dumpster suggests the killer wanted to have her found. It also seems he wanted to display her –not in a positive way because she is against the trash bin. He obviously doesn't think highly of women. It is definitely a crime of passion and I'm almost sure she was raped. She may have known him, or it could have been a stranger. It is hard to tell. Why is she sitting like that? I swear she looks more than sat down. She looks posed.

"Hey, Brass? Does she look posed to you?" I ask, never taking my eyes off her. "Her palms are face down, see? The dead flop, they don't rest their hands like that. And look at her legs, the way they are spread a little too much."

"So, it wasn't just a body dump?"

"No, and for two reasons: he didn't use the dumpster to hide her, and he took the time to position her like that." I bite my lip. "He wanted to show us what he did."

I suddenly want very badly for David to get here so this girl can have some peace. Just as my thought ends, the coroner's van rolls up to the yellow police line. Within minutes he comes sauntering down the alley with a gurney and a body bag.

"Sara!" He waves at me. "I thought Grissom put you in the lab tonight."

I feel my ears grow hot with anger and a new weight bears down on my shoulders.

"Grissom is back?" Brass asks.

"Yeah, he just got back tonight," David says cheerily coming to a halt beside me. "He looks nice and rested."

"David, the body needs to be moved now," I say shortly.

::::::::::::::::::::::::

The victim's clothes were never found, so that means either he kept them as a trophy or the victim wasn't wearing them when she was attacked. David placed time of death roughly ten hours ago, but that doesn't really help until a timeline is established. So far this case isn't unfolding too rapidly.

On a brighter side, if there can be one, I've been able to avoid Grissom. Maybe I sold Brass short, and he didn't tell Grissom about my subconscious words. It just irritates me to know that others think I can't be professional with cases pertaining to women that have been targeted. I can keep my distance, and this case is going to prove it.

"Hey, Doc, you paged me," I say pushing through the morgue doors.

"Yes. I finished your stab victim," he says pointing to a slab and pulling back the white sheet.

"She was stabbed ten times."

"Ten? I counted nine."

He points to an area at the center of her chest. "I almost didn't see it either until I washed away all the blood. It is smaller than the others, as if he didn't push this one the whole way in."

"The first wound? And he was hesitant?"

He shrugs. "It seems so. Cause of death was a fatal blow to the heart of course, but she would have bled out regardless. As far as the bruising to her face, it's typical of a beating. I don't think I have to tell you what is broken, but here is something you'll find interesting –the bruise on her chin is postmortem."

"So he beats her into submission, repeatedly stabs her, and then he punches her in the face again. This is not helping me, Doc."

"And of course there are the long marks on her legs," he says dropping the sheet back over her torso and raising it at the bottom. "Some are older than others, suggesting abuse over a sustained period of time. The marks are uneven in nature and thin out at the end. They are consistent with the markings made by a whip."

I nod as he drops the sheet. "She was also raped, several times, but there was no semen in the vaginal vault. Judging by the damage already done, she was on the verge of rupturing the next time he went after her."

No.

No.

No.

"And I thought you should also know she had virtually nothing in her stomach."

"She died hungry?"

He nods and looks at me with sadness in his eyes. It was at that precise moment, I realized I couldn't do what he does. He only gets the dark, grim side of things. He doesn't see us catch the one responsible; he only sees one dead body after the next. Not all are murdered but I couldn't be surrounded by death for twelve hours a day.

I sigh. "Okay, is that all?"

"On my end of things, yes it is," he says turning away. "I'm sure you want to take a mold of the stab wounds, so I'll let you work."

"Thanks."

Once he disappears into the office, I feel a sudden surge of panic course through me. The silence just hits me I guess. I keep thinking I'll just blink out of existence, the case will never be solved, and I'll be all alone. My eyes close to shut out the thought.

No, I say to myself, I can get through it. I can do this, just like I got through the last one.