"God, Grissom, this guy is not this smart! There's no evidence at the crime scene out at the lake, he just got lucky."
"There's always something, Sara. We'll find it." Grissom said soothingly. Looking at her for longer than necessary, Grissom couldn't help but feel drawn to her as he worried about her with this case.
Wondering why Grissom seemed to be acting nicer than normal to her, Sara continued on, "We got nothing from the route she walked and there was hardly anything at the crime scene itself."
"We still have the tapes Jim got from the bank and from the Venetian; Archie's looking through them and hopefully he'll find something there. Meanwhile, do we know anything about those fibers found at the scene?"
"Not really, just a plain green cotton thread. There was some plant food residue, so we were right in thinking they were probably gardening gloves."
"So, the guy has a car and access to a garden. What else do we know about him, Sara?" Grissom asked, trying to get her concentrating on the facts.
"He didn't drug her, or knock her unconscious with any object; he must have been hiding, waiting for her somewhere to come up behind her. He had a gloved hand over her mouth to stifle any screams. The glove covered her mouth and nose, cutting off her air supply and rendering her unconscious. He taped up her arms, legs and mouth for the drive to the lake. There he removed the tape from at least her mouth, so he could hear her screaming, begging for her life. Then he shoved her in the shallow water, holding her head under forcefully as he watched her struggling, drowning."
"Hey guys don't mean to interrupt, but I've got a little more info for you."
Thankful for the interruption, Grissom turned, concentrating now on listening for more evidence.
"Hey Jim, what've you got?"
Leaning back against Grissom's desk, both scientists listened intently, hopeful for any news which could help their case.
"Melissa Tressle was a wall flower workaholic with little to no time for any friends, male or female. She made no mention to her father of any odd people hanging around, and he knows of no friends that she had. I spoke with her advisor, teachers, co-workers, people in her classes, even people on the street, nobody hung out with this girl. She was known as the smart girl who sat up front and answered all of the teachers' questions and didn't socialize with anybody. She was a dud."
Even though he was still smiling, Brass knew his comment was not received well. Seeing Sara's arms crossed in anger and Grissom's glare, he wisely continued relaying the information.
"It also looks like any connection to her mother's case from Salt Lake is a bust too. The guy who killed her was tried, convicted and actually put to death this past spring. Neither the father nor Melissa went back to watch the guy get the needle. The guy had no accomplices, no family, nobody who thought he was done wrong by the state. A dead end."
"Like everything else so far in this case." Sara moaned, still not easing up with the nasty looks she was throwing at Brass.
"Hopefully we get something off those tapes. I'll catch you guys later."
"Thanks Jim."
With that Brass turned and left Grissom and Sara with not much more than they had before he passed on his information. Grissom watched Sara, standing with arms still crossed, staring into space. Worried she was thinking about Jim's remark, he debated on whether or not to bring up the callous comments; his thoughts were interrupted with Sara bringing them up herself.
"She was me Grissom. You know, you do things... things to try and change, but it doesn't much matter. You are who you are. You can try to get out more, make more friends, and throw away your take out menus but in the end nothing you do really changes who you are. Some of us are loners, have exhausting work habits, and push ourselves to be the best."
"Don't listen to Jim's comment, he was just being... Jim."
"But he's right. You said the same thing yourself. Find a diversion, remember? But, what if it goes against everything that makes a person who they are? What if a diversion pushes you out of your comfort zone?"
"I think the happiest people have a mixture, Sara. It doesn't have to be a life altering event or hobby."
"A mixture."
"A happy medium of work and play."
"What if play is more like work than work is? Why can't work be what you enjoy? Isn't that the point really; the thing everybody strives for, to have a job you enjoy Grissom?"
"Sara, enjoying your work is a wonderful thing, and I agree that most people don't have that. But, no matter what your job is and how much you like it, you still need a break from it. Something for balance, to keep you from burning out, especially in the job we have."
"She was me, Grissom; she was at least well on her way to becoming me. She won't get a chance to put all her theories to use; to take all those experiments and use them in practical situations. All her hard work, none of it meant anything, Grissom. There could be crimes out there two years from now that won't get solved because she was supposed to be here to solve them. It's just so sad."
"Every murder is. We can't focus too much on the victim and what they could have been. We need to keep our perspective and concentrate on the evidence and where it leads us. We need to do that for the victims and their families. That's why we're here; it's what makes us necessary. Without that, without our full attention, they die in vain."
Waiting across the street from the Mirage, he blended in with the tourists milling around the Venetian. Arriving a half an hour early was necessary even though he figured chapter two would be undoubtedly late like most women.
He watched her emerge, true to her feminine nature, a full ten minutes late, with no outward signs of being worried at her tardiness. Casual and cute, she looked around, searching for her date. She stopped her search as her eyes landed on a quirky young man in a rather loud and bizarre outfit.
He watched while gritting his teeth as the man leaned in and gave his chapter a light kiss on the cheek. A flash of jealousy ran through him as he contemplated holding both their heads underwater.
As he watched the dance play out in front of him he calmed some, realizing no sane woman could take this man seriously. His khaki pants the only presentable thing about him. Paired with the red chucks on his feet and that horrendous shirt, he knew this man would be no problem. His mind drifted momentarily as he found himself wondering where one would even find a shirt like that.
Uneven thick vertical stripes in red, purple, yellow, green, and the most brilliant blue he'd ever seen. Un-tucked from his pants, the clingy silk like material rippled with the breeze, as the flared cuffs billowed out away from his hands, appearing to be searching for something to get caught on. The obvious blond streaks in his short spiked hair seemed to match the bright yellow stripes in the shirt.
Crossing the street, he managed to fall in behind them, undetected on their stroll down the street. Continuing blocks away from the strip, Chapter Two and The Shirt meandered with apparently no set agenda. Thankful for the crowd that was accompanying them, he continued walking a safe distance behind them. Sitting on various benches while they drifted in and out of a few small book stores.
Laughing and holding hands, they then made a stop in a small bistro, well away from the strip. The kind of place only a local would know of. They were seated at a tiny table outside, within the confines of a short black iron fence; enjoying a quiet conversation and watching passers by. He stayed hidden, out of sight in a drug store across the street. Perusing a magazine in the big street front window, keeping an eye on the couple and trying to avoid the evil looks from the druggist behind the counter.
As they left the restaurant, he continued his stealthy surveillance, tailing them into a cozy little jazz club just down the street. Thankful for a seat near enough to not only see them clearly but hear them as well, he ordered a club soda and waited for them to leave.
His luck increased a little after ten pm as he heard The Shirt ask her if she was certain she could get home from there. Leaning slightly he listened to the rest of their conversation.
"No really, I want to stay. I may even call my friends and ask them to join me. This club is wonderful."
"Really? I'm glad you had a good time Kelly. I'm sorry I have to go to work. You're in town for a few more days right?"
The hopeful look on The Shirt's face made him want to vomit. What weakness in front of the opposite sex. He had no idea how transparent he was. What a wimp.
"Five more days, then back to the real world in California." She smiled up at him with her wide brown eyes.
"Can I see you again?"
"I'd like that very much. I'm in room 604 at the Mirage, but here I'll give you my cell."
"Excellent, I'll call you later Kelly."
Leaning in, The Shirt kissed her on the cheek again then turned to leave. Walking towards the door, he turned around twice, waving at her the second time.
He sat, waiting for his chance to complete his work on Chapter Two. She listened to the music, slowly finishing her martini as her foot swung back and forth with the beat. He watched her pull out her cell phone to make a call. Thankful when she closed the phone apparently unable to get a hold of her friends.
Setting her empty glass down, she got up, throwing down a small tip for the waitress. Grabbing his wallet, he also threw money down, hurrying to not fall too far behind her.
Nearing eleven thirty on a street a few blocks from the strip, it was pitch black, save the street lights, and quite desolate for a week night. Spotting an ally up ahead, he decided he needed to make his move now.
Coming up behind her with chloroform laced cloth in hand, he struck quickly, holding it firmly over her mouth and nose. She put up a valiant struggle for all of five seconds before collapsing in his arms. Dragging her into the ally, he grabbed the duct tape from his sweatshirt pocket. Binding her hands behind her, he laid her down behind a dumpster, hoping nobody would find her before he got back with his van.
Emerging carefully from the alley, nobody was in sight as he made his way to the bus stop down the street. A quick ride back to the strip, and he had his vehicle.
The drive back was short, but nerve racking as he worried she had woken up, or that somebody had found her. Pulling up slowly he came to a stop in a spot just past the alley. Peering down the little street he saw no movement. Giving one last glance, ensuring nobody was in sight; he exited the van and slipped back into that alley.
Venturing behind the dumpster, she was right where he left her, still out like a light, so sweet and peaceful looking. With his hands under her arms he dragged her back towards his van, pausing momentarily before heading out onto the sidewalk with her. Opening the back door of the van he let her upper body fall to the floor; a feeling of deja vu swept over him as her ass was positioned directly in front of him, teasing Hemingway, waking him up.
Shaking himself, he picked up her legs, pushing them all the way into the van. Grabbing the tape again, he ripped a fresh piece and placed it over her mouth, just in case she woke up before they got to the lake.
Unable to wait, he unbuttoned her pants, just to see what color her panties were. A grin came over his face as the bright red string bikini became visible under her jeans. Hemingway would love those later.
"Sara, we've got a body out at the lake. Call Greg and tell him to meet us at the lab."
"Ok Grissom." Sara answered, trying not to sound sleepy. Unsure of how long the phone had been ringing before it woke her up, Sara pushed the end button and hit number five on her speed dial. The phone was picked up after only one ring.
"Yes Sara my love, what can I do for you this fine morning?"
"Greg, how the hell can you be so cheery three hours after a night shift?"
"I'm always in a marvelous mood, my dear. Besides, nothing can bring me down off of my high today. What's up?"
"Grissom wanted me to call you. We've got a body out at Lake Mead, we'll meet you at work."
"Cool, is it a second victim for the case you guys are on?"
"Greg, we're not jumping to conclusions. Just get going."
"Ok, see you—" Before he could finish his sentence Sara had already hung up the phone.
Greg found himself uncontrollably fidgety in the back seat of Grissom's Tahoe. His foot was tapping four times for every one beat of the music on the radio, and his hands were uncontrollably slapping out the same rhythm on his thighs.
"Greg, stop it."
"Sorry. I'm a little excited."
"You need to calm down. I asked you to come with us because I figured a third set of eyes on this one would be a good thing."
"You think it's a second victim of the case you and Sara are working on?"
In the front seat, Sara's eyes closed, wincing as she waited for Grissom to lecture Greg on assuming.
"I normally don't like to assume anything Greg, but a second body out at Lake Mead in such close proximity time wise to the other, plus Brass called me specifically. I'm not a gambling man, but ..."
"Man a serial killer. I'm working a serial killer case!"
"Greg, stay focused. This is a learning experience for you whatever this turns out to be. If this is not related, then you'll see why we don't jump to conclusions. If it is, you'll see exactly how much attention related cases can get, internally and externally. Either way the evidence is the most important thing. And trust me when I tell you, you do not want it known that you were a leak in any investigation. Do I make myself clear?"
Literally swallowing his fear, Greg managed a weak, "Yes sir."
The rest of the ride was quiet as all three occupants of the vehicle contemplated the importance of this body. Pulling up to the same spot as the last victim, they were directed in the opposite direction this time.
Making their way slowly along the shoreline, a large crowd could be seen by all three. While it was an out of the way spot for a dump, it appeared whoever had found the body had told their friends.
Ducking under the crime scene tape, Grissom lead the way as Sara and Greg followed closely behind. Standing shoulder to shoulder the three criminalists formed a line parallel to the shore, facing their body.
"Greg, tell me what you see."
"Uh, ok. The victim's naked; face down along the shoreline in shallow water, there's no real disturbance, only a few foot prints. Her legs are spread apart and her hands are bound behind her back with duct tape. She looks like she was positioned there purposely."
"Very good Greg. David?" Looking down the shore a little further he spotted the young man who was busily taking notes.
"Yes Grissom?"
"David have you been down to look at the body yet?"
"No sir, I figured you'd want to get a look at those foot prints first." Stopping only then from taking his notes, he looked up long enough to push his glasses back up to their normal position and to add, "I didn't want to disturb them."
"Good job, David."
"Greg, take pictures of those prints, and then watch Sara cast them."
"Yes sir."
Seeing the duo carefully go about their selected tasks, he turned back to the cluster of cops, searching for Brass. Spotting each other simultaneously, they started walking towards one another.
"It's the same sick son of a bitch, Gil."
Walking back towards the body together, Grissom answered his friend.
"Yeah, you're probably right. You see anything else now that you're closer Greg?"
"There's some residue around her ankles. Like he taped them as well. There also appears to be a round bruise on her middle back."
"Good Greg. David, the casts are poured. You can come on over and get started, just steer clear of them will you."
"Sure thing, Grissom."
Bending down by the body with David they rolled the head around to the side.
"Look at this Greg, looks like more residue around her mouth."
"Oh... God..." Stumbling backwards, Greg fell, landing hard on his butt. Scrambling backwards, trying to get away from the scene he managed to get to his feet, stumbling once more into the tree line. Retching noises could be heard from within the bushes as Grissom hastily followed him.
Getting to the tree line quickly he found Greg standing, bent at the waist and losing his breakfast on an unsuspecting tree. Thankful that he at least removed himself from the immediate area, he was still angry that the young man lost control.
"Greg, what the hell happened?"
"Grissom, I know her." Pausing he retched again, grabbing the tree trying to hold himself up.
Staring blank faced at the young man before him, Grissom tried to collect himself, tried to figure out what this meant for the case. Looking around quickly, it appeared that nobody witnessed him falling apart.
"You know the victim, Greg?" Grissom found himself cringing; hoping Greg hadn't seen her in years.
"Oh, God. I went out on a date with her last night before work."
"Oh shit, Greg. I need to get you out of here. I don't think anybody saw your little incident here. I'm going to get Brass to find somebody to drive you back to town. You need to stay there at work. They're going to question you Greg. Remember that you need to think about your answers."
"What do you mean?"
Unsure of how to let Greg know to cover himself, Grissom proceeded carefully. "I mean, this is in all probability the second victim of one man. You were in all likely hood the last person to see her alive before the killer. Tell the truth Greg, but think about your answers before you speak."
"Ok, thanks Grissom." Greg managed as he stood there trying to catch his breath. Adding almost shamefully, "I'm sorry I puked at the crime scene."
Grissom felt sorry for Greg, but tried to keep the conversation professional, knowing this would end up in court later.
"You will have nothing to do with any cases right now. You will not be out in the field and you will not be processing any evidence. Got that?"
"None? I can't work on any case?"
"None Greg. I can't have anything compromised. Do you understand me?"
Grissom didn't think it possible, but Greg's face went even paler as his mouth hung open.
"You think I had something to do with this?"
"Of course not Greg, but I have to think about what other people will think. How this will reflect on the lab should this information get out. Once you're cleared, you can work other cases. Stay right here."
Walking back towards Brass, he glared at the man, knowing a smart comment on the weak stomach of the newest member of his team was forthcoming.
"Stow it Jim."
"But I didn't—"
"I mean it. I need you to have somebody take Greg back to the lab. He is not to have any contact with any cases, hold him in an interrogation room."
Realizing Grissom was not joking around; an unfamiliar unease began to set in.
"What the hell's going on, Gil?"
"Greg knew this girl; he went out with her last night before work."
"Oh shit."
TBC