Chapter Three
6 Months Later
Sara

This year has been one step after another in the wrong direction for all the wrong reasons. I've had bad days, a bad few weeks, but an entire year? I don't even know where things went wrong. The exact point cannot be readily calculated because of the thick haze surrounding the major cause, which is: Grissom.

It feels like he started the avalanche inside me and everything else is just snowfall adding more weight so no one can ever find me. It starts with a period of silence, and then it becomes a definite push. The difference was insignificant at first, but before I knew it Grissom had me at arm's length, then ten feet away, then yards away followed by that aching mile after mile.

'Have dinner with me.' He might as well have laughed at me, perhaps then I could have passed it off as a joke between old friends because I had a more than trying day. No, I got a better idea. Why don't you embarrass me in front of everyone by reminding me that you are the supervisor and I'm to do whatever you say? Then I can ask you to pin me to the wall so I can make an utter fool of myself once again!

In the end, it becomes dead weight compressing my chest.

I've considered putting in a resignation again, if that is any indication how badly things have become. If it wasn't for my stubbornness and the promotion I put in, I may have been out of here by now. I don't know. Maybe I can't really bring myself to leave, and just say that to convince myself that I'm not standing still. It's becoming unlikely I'll get the promotion so what will be my excuse then? Let's make a full circle and say it is because of Grissom.

I sigh as my eyes skim across the landscape zipping by. It has always been about Grissom.

"Our last case was pretty rough, huh?"

When I turn my head, Warrick looks back at the road.

"I mean, that girl claiming to be the victim when she was really the key link in the chain."

I nod, but wish I wasn't reminded of that brat. The whole case had me locked up in that familiar empathy and I was lied to. So many women can't come forward. Either because they don't think anyone will believe them or they are too terrified to realize that what happened wasn't their fault. And because of someone like her, it adds less credibility each and every time to the honest victim's story. It angers me so much. I'm not the kind of person that gets angry; I tend to just be greatly disappointed with others and myself. But when that snot played me like that, when she treated the whole situation as a joke, I really felt my frustration come to the surface. I kept thinking: a girl died a few months ago when she couldn't bring herself to face her rapist, and then this...how could anyone...why would you want to say such a violation occurred, when you'd been spared the torment? It's a mockery to the real victims. It's horrible.

Do you know what's really sad? I wish I was more confident in my warning to make sure she was tried as an adult. She'll probably get off with a slap on the wrist and nothing I can say will change it. I'll try my hardest, but I have little faith.

You just got to press on. When the next victim comes up, you start the trusting all over again until the evidence says otherwise, or catch the bastard that could do such a thing.

"So, what's the story with our dead body?" I ask, pushing the thoughts to the back of my mind. I'm safe when they are there.

"Are you going to tell me why you were late?"

"I cut my hand on my locker door," I say nonchalantly.

"What? Really?"

I hold up my hand to show him where a piece of metal sliced the skin wide open from the bottom of my index finger to the middle of my palm. It's not too deep but it bled pretty badly. I got the bleeding to stop as quickly as I could but by the time I got to the lounge everyone was gone but Warrick, who I was paired with tonight. I bet Grissom wasn't too happy, but I can wager he wouldn't care if I was bleeding to death.

"You should have bandaged it."

"With what? Toilet paper?"

He turns back to the road. "When we get there you can use the first aid kit in the back of the car."

I nod. "So are you going to tell me about our case now?"

"Stabbed female found in a rest area's men's restroom."

"I love bathrooms. They leave excellent prints."

He looks over at me and smiles. "I know, and I brought some new toys."

"Really?" I turn around in my seat and try to see some of the equipment in the dim light. "What did you get?"

"You'll see," he says watching me out of the corner of his eye.

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

By the time we arrive at the scene, I've put Grissom virtually out of my mind. I've discovered that I can block a lot out when I'm concentrated on other things, which for me is work. We may pass each other in the halls and see each other occasionally, but he's intent on dismissing my presence so I've fallen more into the job. After all, work is what brought us closer from the start. It is all I have right now, and it will have to suffice until...I guess until he takes that away too. I wrap my hand in gauze and we set off towards a young officer, one I haven't met, who is waving us over.

"It took you guys long enough," he says, rubbing his chilled hands together. "We identified the girl as Mary Thompson, thirty-one years of age, and a Las Vegas resident."

"How did you ID her?" Warrick asks.

"Her license, how else would we know who she is? She didn't open her eyes and tell us."

Warrick exchanges an exasperated look with me, and then turns back to the officer. "Show us where the body is."

"Right back here."

We follow him to the side of the building with our field kits in hand and flashlights poised like weapons against the darkness. The walkway to the men's restroom has a solid concrete wall facing the parking lot for privacy, but the trapped cold night air makes me shiver to combat the temperature change.

"Last stall," the officer says pointing to the open door.

Warrick nods. Inside, a stench of urine and old lemon cleaner invades my nostrils. I almost feel the urge to dowse the whole place with Clorox to kill the germs I'm walking through. No, better still, it should be set on fire and bulldozed to the ground. The look on Warrick's face tells me that he's thinking the exact same thing.

Finally, we find the girl sitting on the floor of the last stall. Warrick immediately sets down his kit and pulls a pair of latex gloves on. I do the same.

"This is going to be a long night," he says with a sigh. "Do you want pictures or the body?"

"I'll take the photos," I say pulling out the small digital camera and getting to work.

She is banged up pretty badly, and her right arm looks broken. Her navy sweater is cut in two halves revealing the knife wounds. I notice she isn't only stabbed; she's also cut like someone was enjoying himself. Her jeans are completely missing from the scene and...

"No."

"You got something?"

All of Warrick's words run together and I can't move. I've seen this before. I know this crime scene. Her underwear is saturated with blood, her body is posed, and fresh whippings plague her legs. Oh no.

A strong hand pulls at me. "You okay?"

I look at him but I don't see him. "I've had this case before."

"What?"

"This case, it's just like one I had six months ago. Everything is the same," I say quickly as my mind continues to bring up images of the Jane Doe in the alleyway.

"Are you sure?"

I nod and it seems to break my trance. He glances over at the dead woman and back to me.

"Let's get you outside." He begins to push me towards the door.

I lean into him to push back. "No, I'm fine. We need to process the scene. This may be our chance to catch him."

He looks at me, unbelieving and drops his hands to his sides. He casts another disapproving glance at the dead girl, but quietly returns to the victim's side to continue. My knees unlock with some effort, and I begin snapping the various shots of the scene again. We work continuously without speaking. I use the silence to let the inner workings of my mind kick into gear.

I'll need to pull the Jane Doe file and go through it carefully. Maybe something will jump out since we have two cases to compare. Once Doc Robbins performs the autopsy, I can go to Grissom with official evidence that would support the same killer in both cases. I think there is plenty of evidence, but it's Grissom and he'll need evidence.

Right now the only difference between the bodies is that this woman isn't a Jane Doe. What does that mean?

I turn to Warrick. "Hey where did they find her license if she hasn't got any pants on?"

He shrugs. "Go ask Detective Personality."

I find Detective Vickman, that's his name, standing nearest the yellow tape laughing with some patrol officers. "Excuse me."

"What can I do for you, sweetheart?"

Did he just call me sweetheart? I roll my eyes. "Where did you find the victim's license?"

He looks at the other officers then back to me. "In her purse."

What is with this guy?

"I need to know where you found the purse then."

"In the parking lot."

"Show me."

He points. "Over there, under the second street lamp."

I look over my shoulder. I muster a 'thank you' and start to walk that way. I pull my flashlight out of my pocket again, and comb the area as I walk. Most of it is litter and broken glass. I reach my destination but find nothing. I search three times, but apparently the purse was isolated. I wish Detective Vickman had the brain capacity to remember not to move evidence. It may have helped to have the evidence in its place. I admit defeat nonetheless. As I swing around, my flashlight picks up on something several feet away. When I reach it, I find that it's a license plate. That's...

I jump when a hand grabs me from behind. Warrick stares at me fuming with anger.

"What the hell are you doing?"

I frown at him feeling my heart beat in my chest. "You're the one sneaking up on people."

"Someone has just murdered a woman, possibly two, and you're going on a hike?" He spins around. "Hey, Detective Dumbass?! Yeah I'm talking to you! Do you mind telling me why you just violated protocol and let CSI Sidle wander off on her own?!"

"Warrick, I'm okay," I say softly.

His piercing eyes lock with mine. "Did you hear me walking up on you?"

"No, but..."

"Exactly," he says turning towards the officers again. "You just got on my shit list, asshole!"

"It was my fault," I interrupt. "I shouldn't have wandered off."

He doesn't listen. "It's your job to protect the CSI's! Where in the hell were you just now?!"

"Warrick would you stop. You're making a big deal about nothin'."

He turns around just in time to miss the officers giving him the very popular hand gesture.

"Too many times, we've been attacked while officers..."

"Just drop it," I say sharply. "It's my fault, okay? I'm sorry. Can we just drop it?"

Warrick's jaw clenches and releases. "What did you find?"

I hold up the license plate. "It may have come from our killers car."

"Or any other stolen car in Vegas."

"I guess we will have to run it." I try to push past him but he grabs my elbow.

"Sara, I'm sorry," he says quietly. "But you could have gotten hurt."

"It won't happen," I say touching his hand.

"At the risk of sounding a lot like Nick, I couldn't handle you getting hurt on my watch. I think it has a lot to do with irony."

I cannot stop the chuckle. "What's wrong Brown, am I getting under your skin?"

"Did anyone ever tell you can be such a pain?" He smiles at me, shaking his head.

"Maybe." I tug his hand. "Let's get back and see what we have to get this case rolling again."