Wednesday, September 15, 2004
Grissom heard the knock at his door at about 8:20. He opened it to find a far different Sara than the one he'd seen the night before. She was sharply dressed in a dark professional pantsuit. She appeared recharged and eager to get started on a new case—all in all, at the top of her game.
"Hey, come on in. I'm just about ready." He closed the door after her and returned to the bed, where he had papers strewn about. He gathered them up and tucked them into his briefcase. Though he would never admit it, he was honored at the prospect of working with Scotland Yard, the oldest, most-revered police force in the world, and he suspected Sara was, too. "I called the front desk to request a taxi."
"You don't want to ride the Tube?"
"I need to be there on time. I haven't had a chance to study the maps."
"I'm pretty good at navigating," Sara boasted amiably.
"I can't wait to test you," Grissom smiled. "Tomorrow."
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The better part of the morning was spent greeting various members of the local law enforcement community and getting the preliminary information about the case. Eventually they were left alone with the files in the office of Dr. L. Kibben. Sara flipped through the pages. "This insect evidence is complicated, but not that complicated. Don't they have a forensic entomologist?"
"There are three that they work with, I think. In fact, Dr. Kibben, whose office we're using, is an acquaintance of mine, one of the best in the field. I guess they're all unavailable at the moment," Grissom explained.
"So we're trying to establish a date of death, right?"
"That's where we're starting, yes."
"I'll look at the vic, the background and the circumstances so you can do the timeline."
Grissom looked up from the paper and turned to her. "Two types of insects, two different timelines."
"Then we'd better get started."
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The duo worked throughout the morning. For a late lunch, Grissom found a quirky vegetarian café a block away from New Scotland Yard. In between bites of his salad, he asked, "Have you seen the Ferris wheel?"
"The Millennium Wheel? Or I guess it's the London Eye now. Why do you ask?"
"I was thinking of trying it out tonight."
"I thought you were into roller coasters," Sara teased.
"Do they have to be mutually exclusive?"
She smiled lightly. "Let's go."
"Can I trust your renowned Tube navigation skills to get us there?" He responded with a playful grin.
Sara studied her map. "I hate to tell you this, but it looks like its pretty close. We can walk."
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Hours later, they decided to call it a day. Sara's directions were sound, and they made the hike in no time. They walked a short distance along the Thames River before Sara stopped to lean on the rail and gaze thoughtfully over the water. A light breeze blew through her hair.
"It's amazing, isn't it?" she asked in a soft voice. "There's so much history here. There's nowhere in America that has so many centuries of history and tradition."
"Sure there is," Grissom said. "The native American culture dates back many thousands of years. It's just not as well-documented."
"True. But we don't have it recorded and documented like this. History books are full of events that happened on this very spot of ground."
"I have to admit, it is an odd feeling to walk down the same streets as the Bard himself."
"The Globe Theatre's near here, isn't it?"
"I think it's that way," Grissom pointed. "When I was in high school, I attended the Shakespeare Festival in Ashland, Oregon. I saw a production of A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I remember sitting there thinking how much I would have liked to have seen it at the Globe."
Sara turned to him. "At least you've seen a live production of Shakespeare," she replied. "I never have."
He reached out and lightly touched her shoulder. "Ready to ride the big wheel?"
"Ready," she smiled warmly.
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As she dressed for bed, Sara tried to make sense of the day's events. Grissom had been sweet and charming; they'd gotten along beautifully. Was he simply trying to make the best of a bad situation, or was he truly enjoying spending time with her as much as she was enjoying spending time with him?
Next door, Grissom brushed his teeth and settled into bed. He had thoroughly enjoyed his day with Sara. He feared that it was only a matter of time before he said or did something that caused her to pull away from him again, but he was determined to make as much progress as he could toward repairing their badly damaged friendship. Then maybe, just maybe, it could blossom into something more. Usually a man who relied upon well thought-out plans of action, he found himself with no idea how to proceed from here. He had spent most of his life perfecting the art of not needing anyone, and had been largely successful. And then Sara came along. He fought it with all of his might, but he now realized that he was more afraid of losing her than he was of any risk that may come with further involvement.
Thursday, September 16, 2004Sara and Grissom sat at the desk in Dr. Kibben's office, separately working on different aspects of their case. Grissom shook his pen, attempting to revive its failing ink supply.
He grimaced. "Do you have a pen I can borrow?"
Sara reached for her bag. "In here somewhere." Shuffling through the contents of her bag, she inadvertently dropped her passport. Grissom picked it up, open to the fly page. He noted that her picture was better than most people's passport picture, then something else caught his attention. She was born September, 16, 1971. A quick look at the wall calendar confirmed his suspicion: It was her birthday! He handed the passport back to her.
"Thanks," she said, then offered him the sought-after pen. "And, here you go."
"Thank you," he stated, and stood abruptly. "I have an errand to run. Will you be all right here by yourself for a while?"
"Yeah," she answered, slightly confused.
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Before returning to the hotel for the evening, they decided to stop at a nearby pub for a meal. Grissom insisted on buying dinner to thank her for helping him wrap up the case so early. They sat across the small round table from each other, intently studying the menu.
"Blood pudding? Bangers and mash? What is this stuff?" Sara wondered aloud.
"I'm having a hamburger," Grissom stated.
"A hamburger?" Sara asked with incredulity. "This from a man who puts ants on his eggs? Where's your sense of adventure?"
"I've had most of these dishes before," he defended. "It wouldn't be an adventure. And how do you know about the ants?"
"I guess I heard it somewhere. It's not the kind of thing you forget," she teased. "Anyway, you didn't come all the way to England to eat a burger. At least get the fish and chips."
The waitress approached to take their orders. "What can I get you?"
Sara smiled, holding up her menu. "Which of these doesn't have meat?"
"The bubble and squeak doesn't."
"I'll have that, then."
"I'll have that as well," Grissom surrendered.
"I'm proud of us for finishing so early," Sara said brightly. "Holmes and Watson couldn't have done better."
"Holmes and Watson," Grissom rationalized, "didn't have access to the same tools we do."
"Always practical, aren't you?"
He took a long sip from his ale. "What are you planning to do with the rest of the time?"
"I guess I should call the airline and see if I can get an earlier flight."
"I thought you had decided to be a tourist." Though Grissom's visceral reaction was one of pure panic, he utilized his well-honed skill of concealment and put up a calm front. "You said yourself that it's probably cheaper to stay."
"And pay for the hotel until Sunday?"
"Consider it a vacation," he shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "You've earned it. My flight isn't until Sunday, either."
Sara rolled her eyes playfully. "Don't tell me we're on the same flight again."
"We'll have to compare notes. In the meantime," he reached into his pockets, and his mouth went dry as he handed an envelope to her. "Happy birthday, Sara," he said sincerely.
Sara wouldn't have been more surprised if he'd whipped out a ukulele and broken into a chorus of "Tiny Bubbles."
"Othello…at the Globe?" she stammered.
"Tomorrow night."
"I, um, I don't know what to say."
Grissom felt the fear in his gut again. Did she not want to go? Or did she merely not want to go with him? "Say you'll go," he choked out weakly.
"Of course I'll go." Sara's surprise gave way to a wide grin. "I'd love to. You just…totally caught me off guard."
The waitress returned and set their plates in front of them. Sara poked at her entrée with her fork. "Cabbage?"
"Cabbage," he confirmed.
TBC