Chapter Five
Four Days Later
Sara

This case is really getting under my skin. The clues are simply nonexistent. Whoever this is, he's extremely careful. Nothing collected from the victims or the scene has been of any use. The moldings I took from the victims' stab wounds don't match, which means different knives were used. The license plate belongs to a car reported stolen by an elderly woman while she was grocery shopping. Brass has the description of the car out on the wire, but there still isn't a guarantee the guy that stole the car is the one we are chasing.

I checked into the victims' pasts as far as three years, and still found nothing to warrant a fresh lead. There is no link at all. Nothing. Doe and Thompson don't even have similar appearances. Doe was very petite and a brunette that worked in a book store. Mary Thompson was my height, blond, and worked as a talent representative. Not to mention the time distance between the killings is widely spaced. Why? Is he evolving? Is part of his routine? So many questions. All dead ends.

It just doesn't make sense.

I sigh and close my eyes. What do I know? We have to be dealing with the same guy who lives in Las Vegas for at least the last six months. He also has to have access to these women for at least several days. It is obvious he raped them more than once. Typically, when your attacker is a stranger, an incident of rape occurs once. Repeated violations suggest the victim was in a reoccurring situation she couldn't escape. So is he kidnapping them and holding them until he gets bored? And when he does get bored, what happens next?

"Hey, Sara." Nick flops down scaring me. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya. What are you working on?"

"Just a case," I say, dropping my eyes back to the folder.

"Is that the possible serial?"

His tone is more probing than pure curiosity and I suppose it is because of a wonderful rumor that is currently floating around. Greg dutifully informed me yesterday that I'm only looking for a big case to prove myself to Grissom. (Is that why I sat here for countless minutes debating with myself?) It is all a bunch of nonsense, but as with all rumors, the lie is more interesting than the truth.

Before I even try to answer Nick's question, the rest of the crew walk through the door.

"Okay, we're all here," Catherine says with a sigh. "Grissom left me the assignments, so I guess he is already out on a call. Nicky you have a 419, Warrick you have the pleasure of my company, and Sara..." She searches the post-it note for my assignment, but her face says I'm nowhere on the paper. "Are you sure you work tonight?"

"It's on the time sheet," I reply somewhat defensively by her suggestive attitude.

She shrugs. "He must've forgotten. You know how Grissom can get when a case comes in."

I give her a fake smile betraying how awkward this small conversation has made me feel.

"Well, you can ride with one of us."

"I'll hang around here."

"Okay," she says with a shrug. "If we need a backup, we'll call."

"Catch you later, Sara."

They all leave and soon the peace and quiet warrants for perfect concentration, but I feel a new annoyance that wasn't previously there. For some time now I've felt like an outsider to most of the team, and I think this takes the cake.

"Let's go."

Grissom stands in the doorway in a pair of jeans and his field vest. He's wearing jeans?

"Another girl was found at the quarry. Brass is waiting for us."

I try to process what he is saying. "I thought you forgot I was working tonight."

He screws up his brow in confusion. "How could I forget you? I'll meet you outside."

I watch him disappear, but cannot escape the impact of his words.

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

The scene is one I'm painfully familiar with: the only garments on her body are her shirt and panties, her face is beaten, her legs bearing his signature, and she is posed against a pile of stone.

"This one makes three. Looks like Sara was right."

I glance over at Brass to silently thank him for the support. No one else seems to notice I'm good at my job.

"Her shirt is intact," I say, bringing my mind back to the scene. "The last two had their shirts ripped down the front to display the stab wounds."

Grissom stands on the other side of the body. "What color were their shirts?"

The question strikes me as odd, and when I look over to him, he's staring at me. I know the colors but is this a test to see how close emotionally attached I'm becoming? I can't afford to be pulled off this case.

"I don't think he wanted to cut her shirt because of its color," he says quite simply.

I look down at the body. I understand what he means. The only evidence that it was once white are the untouched sleeves on each side of the solid bloodstained shirt.

"He liked the look of the blood as it was seeped from the wounds," I say sadly. "Thompson was wearing a navy blue sweater and Jane Doe was wearing a yellow blouse."

"Yes, white is a good color," he says opening his kit.

I set to work by first scraping her nails but have little belief she had the strength to fight back after the first blow to her face. Taking the photos are the hardest. You can imagine why. Afterwards I need a break.

"Uh - I'm going to walk the perimeter. Maybe there is evidence of transport."

"Take Brass with you," he answers without looking at me.

I walk towards the yellow tape where Brass stands giving orders to a police cadet.

"Hey Brass, do you feel like taking a walk?"

He turns at the sound of my voice and wags his eyebrows. "It's a funny thing because I was just going to ask you that."

I take my time combing through the dusty earth for any clues. Strangely, there are no tire tracks, footprints, or drag marks.

"Sara." Brass's arm swings in front of me to act as a barrier.

When I follow his stare I see a young man in jeans and a dark hooded sweatshirt twenty feet away sitting on a pile of crushed rock.

"Do you have your gun?"

"Yeah." I unclip my gun.

"Get behind me," he whispers walking forward. "Sir, this is the Las Vegas Police! Put your hands where I can see them!"

The man's eyes catch sight of us. His head cocks to the side. "Are you really the police?"

"Yes, now put your hands where I can see them."

He begins to stand up and my hands tighten on the grip.

"You are late. You shouldn't be Late! Must be On Time!" He shouts despite the fact that we are in perfect hearing distance now.

"Keep your hands where I can see them."

"But I have to give this to you." He bends down to pick up a package that is sitting at his feet.

"Sir, put the box down! Now!"

"Piper said to give this to the police." The man acts confused. "The police are always On Time. Are you sure you are the police?"

"Brass?" I whisper. "Who's Piper?"

"His alter-ego? I don't know or care right now. Stay behind me."

I swallow around the lump in my throat. "I don't think this is our guy, Jim."

He never takes his eyes off of the man as he processes my words. "You said Piper wanted to give us something?"

"Yeah!" The guy smiles at us. "He said you were friends."

Slowly, I holster my weapon and step up beside Brass. "Do you know where we can find him?"

"He went home, I guess."

"Where's home?"

He points to the distance. "The Mountain, of course."