Nearly falling into his apartment, he collapsed in his desk chair. With arms dropping to the desk, his head sank onto them gratefully. Gaining control over his breathing he couldn't help the smile spreading over his face. Sitting back up he grabbed his glasses off his desk. As he pushed them up his nose his smile grew as he realized his good fortune in forgetting them. The fight she put up would have certainly broken them and fragments may well have been left behind as evidence.
Pulling out the special yellowed parchment that he'd purchased specifically for his masterpiece, he opened the desk drawer selecting the brand new quill pen as he eyeballed the yet unopened bottle of ink.
Dipping the pen into the well he began making a list, first of things that worked well in his first chapter, then one of things that would need to be edited out for the next chapter.
The main point of contention being an internal debate on the addition of drugs into what he liked to refer to as the rough draft part of the process, he had almost let his first chapter get away. While he had followed her stealthily for a few weeks, and knew she was a careful one, he had miscalculated her physical strength.
He was a man's man just as Ernest Hemingway was, and he did triumph over the weaker sex of the species in the end, but he was way too close to letting her get away. He would need something to subdue the next chapters, at least until he was ready to kill them. He would just wait for them to wake up before holding them under water. After all, it was the fight, the struggle to survive that captured and inspired him in his creativity.
The bag was also a problem. While quite attractive and fitting for an author, it was just not practical for his purposes. He would stick with his hooded sweatshirt; the kind with the roomy pocket in the front.
Another issue was his own Hemingway, and his need for release. He would have to buy some condoms for his next chapters. He had been very careful to douse Chapter One's body with lake water, so he was certain any living evidence was washed away. If he wore a condom from now on though, he could just take that with him and dispose of it later, along with the clothes. Well, most of the clothes.
Reaching his hand into his sweatshirt pocket his fingers clamped down around the cotton material. Pulling it out, his heart started racing as the light pink color of her panties was born. Bringing them up to his face he breathed in deeply, capturing her scent, throwing him back imagining the scene as he once again masturbated.
His semen shooting out, landing on her now cold ass. The only movement from her at this point was caused by the small waves of Lake Mead rolling into her, making her bob up and down slightly. And as he finished his lone act while kneeling over her body, his hand which was not occupied by stroking Hemingway was clutching that pink fabric, rubbing it sensually along the side of his face.
"Sara, you coming?" Grissom asked Sara, who was just sitting down to a computer.
Jumping up before her butt even hit the chair, Sara asked, "Is Doc ready for us already?"
"Yeah. Did you get that evidence to trace?"
"I dropped it off and was about to look through the missing persons' database, hoping I could find out who she is."
"Maybe Brass will have something on her when we get done with the body." Grissom said as they made their way down the hall to the coroner's domain.
Staring at the absurdly small object, Doc Robbins attempted to pick it up. Never seeming as large before; his fingers, which were trying to hold the tiny weapon, appeared giant sized. Using a glass cabinet as a mirror, he brought the object near his face, his eyes widening in fear at the thought of the sharp little blades entering his nostrils. He was going to kill his youngest daughter for burning out the motor in his nose hair trimmers, having wound it in her doll's hair.
Pushing open the swinging doors, Grissom and Sara were met by Doc Robbins jumping, a crutch falling sideways clanging against a steel table. Completing its journey, the crutch fell to the floor, bouncing once and rattling a few seconds before finally coming to rest.
About to commence a lecture on the properness of announcing one's presence, Doc Robbins could feel a tickling little trickle beginning on his upper lip. Wiping his hand across the area, a small amount of blood was streaked on the back of his hand.
Deciding no explanation was better than then the truth, he carried on as though nothing had actually happened. His sparkling blue eyes glancing up at them; he hobbled to their Jane Doe's body, and offered a very sharp, "Grissom, Sara."
In an effort not to laugh, Sara cleared her throat before asking evenly, "What have you got for us, Doc?"
The embarrassment and amusement of the moment vanished as all three looked at their Jane Doe lying on the table and got back to business.
"Not much I'm afraid. The killer didn't leave much behind, as you probably already know."
"Any signs of sexual assault?"
Glancing at Grissom and then back to Sara, the coroner was always relieved to be able to answer that question negatively, especially around Sara. Her reaction, quite understandably, was never a good one when there was evidence of sexual assault.
"No. It doesn't appear that she'd had intercourse of any kind for quite some time. A bit unusual for a beautiful girl her age; I'd say she's somewhere between eighteen and twenty-four."
"Cause of death?" Grissom asked.
"Asphyxiation due to drowning, you can see the slight amount of foam still present in her mouth. There was water as well as sand in her lungs and stomach, consistent with the water in Lake Mead, so it looks as though she was drowned there. Take a look at this."
Pointing to her mouth, they could just make out a faint bruising on her upper lip and what appeared to be many small scratch marks.
"There was a green thread between her teeth, and sand in her mouth as well. I bagged the tape that was binding her wrists. She's got some sticky residue on her ankles and around her mouth, he must have bound her legs and gagged her as well."
"So the guy came up from behind her, covered her mouth to keep her quiet and then taped her mouth shut once she was unconscious. God Grissom, he must have removed the tape from her mouth when they got to the lake, otherwise there would be no sand present. He wasn't worried about her screaming at that time of night."
"He pushed her face down hard, with enough force to cause bruising and abrasions on her lips and teeth. With that thread between her teeth, maybe she tried to bite him, but the killer was wearing gloves. Sara, didn't you find another thread at the scene?"
"Yeah, floating by her head, it was green, it's in trace. So the killer wore green cloth gloves. That's kinda odd."
"It's odd for a killer to wear cloth gloves, but it's probably not an odd enough glove that we can track down. Anything else, Doc?"
"Other than a broken wrist no, that's pretty much it guys."
"Spiral fracture, or from a blunt object?
"Spiral, Gil. He grabbed her hard."
"Thanks Al."
With that, Grissom and Sara pushed out through the swinging doors, walking slowly down the hall.
"Grissom, he didn't know her. You don't sneak up behind someone you know. If he knew her, he could have gotten close enough to grab her. Yet it was so brutal and such a personal killing, it has all the passion of killing someone known."
Standing at the bottom of the sweeping half moon driveway of the Mirage, he watched the giggling group of women walking up the sidewalk, approaching the glass doors which would lead them inside the hotel. With the normal daily crowds giving him cover, he was able to follow closely, listening to their entire conversation without anybody taking notice.
Learning that they were friends who'd driven out from California for a few days of fun before their final year together in college, he zeroed in on the four brunettes in the group. Hoping one would stand out from the others as his second chapter.
Making their way through the casino, they split up; half of them heading for the black jack tables while the other half stayed on the main path which led towards the Let-It-Ride tables. Following the group with two of the brunettes, he carried on to the Let-It-Ride tables with them.
Settling himself one seat away from the girls, he waited, played and listened for clues that would point out which would be his next chapter. Both brunettes were beautiful and friendly, either would make a wonderful choice. He found himself worried as to how he would get them alone long enough to grab one, though. Choices were wonderful, but if they were never alone, he might as well give up now and look elsewhere. Just go across the street to the Venetian and latch on to some lovely young thing over there.
He suddenly realized they were discussing their plans for the week and things were looking pretty good for him and the friendlier of the two brunettes, Kelly. Kelly was apparently going out on a date tomorrow night with a young man she'd met the night before while partying at the Coyote Ugly in the New York - New York hotel.
Sitting through one more hand as he learned of the details around tomorrow evening, his luck abruptly ran out. Having been blessed with being quite plain to look at, not too handsome and not too ugly, he was normally very good at blending in with the crowd, until now. Having just won with four of a kind, those at the table as well as the onlookers behind them all took notice of the man who just won hundreds of dollars off a table with a ten dollar limit.
The ohs and ahs of the tourists and casual gamblers, along with the pats on his back and the stares were not something he needed right then. Talk of tomorrow night's plans ended as all three girls took notice for the first time of the plain looking man sitting at their table. As the dealer dealt the next hand, he downplayed his winnings, waiting for the attention to be averted back to the normal goings on inside the casino.
Hearing the time that Chapter Two was meeting Mr. Coyote Ugly, he packed up his chips and hurried out of the casino back to the relative security of his apartment. He was thankful that he had twenty-eight hours of hibernation ahead of him to run through the outline for Chapter Two a few more times.
"Melissa Tressle's our girl from the lake."
Looking up from the papers he and Sara were going over, Grissom's eyebrow rose questioningly, hoping for more information on their victim.
"A local girl, putting herself through school at UNLV." Brass continued, falling into a seat with no grace what-so-ever. "She lived alone not far from the strip, where she worked at the Delmonico Steakhouse."
"Emeril's restaurant in the Venetian. Excellent place, I bet she made pretty good money there."
With his eyebrow rising again, an almost jealous looking Grissom stared at Sara, wondering when she could possibly have had time to go to a nice restaurant like that, and who could have taken her there.
"Yeah, it looks like she may have been snatched on her way home from work the night before she was found."
"Well, let's go check out her place." Sara said as she hurried past Brass, who was not moving from his chair.
"In a minute; there's more you need to know."
Pausing at the door, Sara turned around facing Brass as Grissom took his glasses off, waiting for what seemed to be bad news.
"It seems this one is sort of close to home. Ms. Tressle was going to be interning here at the crime lab this fall, and she had a big fan in the Sheriff. She was working on a double major in Criminal Justice and Chemistry."
Waiting for that to sink in a bit, Brass continued with even worse news. "Her mother died when she was young; the victim of a violent crime of some sort. I'm looking into getting that file sent from Salt Lake City, Utah to make sure there's no connection there."
"Who identified the body, Jim?" Grissom asked as he watched Sara's reaction to hearing of a girl who she seemed to have a lot in common with.
"The father, he was a mess. He kept saying 'not again, not again' and then he just broke down. I had to have somebody drive the poor guy home."
Thinking about his own daughter; Brass grew as silent and somber as Sara had become, as he wondered where Ellie was at the moment and how she was doing.
Seeing Sara's increasingly quiet reaction, Grissom knew he needed to get her out of there and thinking about the evidence again quickly. "Thanks Brass. Let's get going Sara, this is about to get real big real fast. Not only will we get it internally, but the media will love this girl too. Sara, you ready?"
"Yeah, let's go." Sara replied quietly.
The drive to Melissa Tressle's apartment was filled only with silence, as Grissom watched Sara looking out the passenger window, deep in thought. Grabbing their kits, they met up with Brass at the front of his car.
"Ok, I just got a call from Vartan; she left work just after midnight last night. Co-workers said she always takes the bus, which would have brought her to the stop right there."
All three started walking to the rectangular plexi-glass structure Brass was pointing to.
"Vartan spoke with the driver, he said she got off the bus, but he didn't see where she went after that. He moved on up the road, sticking to his schedule. He did say he was surprised anybody got her though. Apparently she was one security conscious girl. Always had her key out ahead of time, and carried her mace firmly in her hand. Said she was always very vigilant; looked around all the time like her head was on permanent spin cycle."
Glaring at Brass, frustration bubbled out of Sara before she could help it.
"Gee Jim, maybe if a member of your family died of a violent crime, you'd be vigilant too."
"Whoa, hey I know. I'm just passing on what was said. I wish she'd been more observant, she might still be alive."
"Sara? How does one snatch somebody who's so observant?" Grissom asked, prodding Sara for the obvious answer.
Turning her attention to Grissom, she could see the gleam in his eye. Putting her mind back on the task at hand, her eyes lit up as she started thinking more clearly.
"He knew her, or he stalked her. He knew her habits, knew she was overly aware of her surroundings; otherwise she would have spotted him easily."
"Jim, are there any tapes that you can pull from the Venetian for the past couple of weeks?" Grissom asked. Continuing his line of thinking he added, "Also, are there any cameras from her apartment complex?"
"I already grabbed the tape from the Venetian from the night she disappeared, but I'll get everything for the past few weeks too. Her apartment building doesn't have any cameras, and the doors are outside; there's no guard or other security system either. I'll check the businesses between her apartment and this bus stop to see if there are any outside cameras along her most likely path. That bank there is probably our best bet for that." Brass said, pointing across the street to the Savings and Loan."
"Sara, you walk the path from the bus stop to the apartment, we may get lucky. Jim, lets get in her place and see if this girl can tell us anything. You talk to any of her friends yet?"
Heading for her apartment, they left Sara behind, slowly working along the route to her building.
"Haven't really found any friends yet, Gil; some acquaintances, but it seems she wasn't exactly a social butterfly. Kind of another Sara, you know?"
"That's what I'm afraid of." Grissom responded, glancing back at the now busy Sara.
"What I'm afraid of is that if this wasn't somebody she knew, we could have more dead girls turning up in a few days."
"Don't jump to conclusions Jim, you know better than that."
"I know that you don't jump to conclusions. I have to be looking ahead. Trying to guesstimate and predict what the deal is, just in case. Especially with the Sheriff breathing down both our necks on this one."
Entering the apartment, Brass took the lead giving a cursory glance to ensure nobody was lurking. Looking around, the bed was made and the apartment was clean, but not overly so. The counters were bare, but there was a plate and glass in the sink. The living room was neat, but lived in with magazines on the side tables along with coasters and another empty glass.
"Nothing happened in here, Jim. I don't think she ever made it home."
"Yeah, he grabbed her off the street. We'll be lucky to find anything. You done in here?"
"Not yet, I want to see if she had a journal. It'd be nice to find she'd been worried about being followed or bothered by some creep."
"Yeah, maybe she wrote his name in her diary, and drew a map to his house for you."
Glaring at the sarcastic man beside him, Grissom bit his tongue preferring to continue on with his search instead.
Smiling apologetically at the suddenly increasingly uptight entomologist, Brass continued more civilly. "I'll ask the father if she mentioned anything like that when he's a little more coherent.
"I'm not seeing anything like a journal here." Grissom said, finally giving up. "Let's go see if Sara got lucky outside."
TBC