Cardinality
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the citizens of Las Vegas. Started out as a case file but the G/S aspect demanded equal representation. This is the safe version for this site. The original story can be found at my web site.
Rating: R for subject matter
A/N: No real spoilers. Many thanks to Burked for teaching me how to be a serial killer, among many other things.
Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own anything related to CSI. If I did, certain characters would be getting more screen time – together!
"I cannot help it; in spite of myself, infinity torments me." – Alfred de Musset
Chapter 4
"Good morning, Ichabod, Sara. Find any hoof prints at your scene?" Robbins asked dryly, as he carried the head of their latest victim across the morgue.
"No," Grissom replied in surprise. "Was the cause of death decapitation?"
"Unlike the denizens of Sleepy Hollow, our victim managed to keep his head until after he died. It was severed postmortem. Looks like a large blade was used. My bet would be a machete over a saber, though," the coroner said, pointing out several gouges on the back of the victim's neck. "Took a couple of strikes to detach it. Your killer isn't an expert at beheadings."
"Let's hope we catch him before he gets any more practice."
"What was the cause of death?" Grissom asked.
"Intracranial hemorrhage. Single blow to the back of the head. Died quickly. I've put a rush on the tox screens, but everything seems consistent with warfarin poisoning."
"Any defensive wounds?"
"None that I could find."
"What about the bruising around the elbows and knees?" Sara asked.
"Bruising around the joints is a common sign of warfarin poisoning. Not only does the drug thin the blood, but it actually damages the blood vessels in high doses."
"So, it's easier for a bump or a blow to trigger internal bleeding," Sara concluded.
"Exactly. And then the warfarin prevents the bleeding from stopping."
"Double trouble," she said, moving to examine the neck wounds in more detail.
"Anything else?" Grissom asked.
"Yes. We found a bloody handkerchief in the victim's effects. Nosebleeds are another symptom with a warfarin overdose. From the condition of his nasal cavity, I'd say he had a bad one."
"But the first victim didn't have any outward signs of poisoning," Sara said, "Are we looking at a different dosage, or a different time frame between the poisoning and the killing?"
Robbins shrugged. "Either. Neither. Both. We won't know anything until we get the tox screens back. It could be this victim was more sensitive to warfarin."
Sara leaned against the slab, her brow wrinkled in thought. "It doesn't sound like warfarin is a great choice for a poison. It's slow and it can have warnings."
"That's one of the reasons it's popular in rat poison. It usually isn't all that dangerous to humans," the coroner explained.
"Our killer wanted the blood. This allows him to collect it easily and prevents it from congealing before he's done with leaving his messages," Grissom pointed out. "The anti-coagulant effect of the warfarin may have been more important to him than its lethality."
"So, does the killer know something about drugs or did he just research this?" Sara asked.
"Good question. Warfarin is more lethal when several smaller doses are given over a period of days. Did the killer only have one chance to slip the victims the drugs, or did he mistakenly think one large dose would be more effective?" Robbins asked.
Sara shook her head. "We don't even know how he's getting the drug into the victims yet."
"The killer's been lucky, so to speak. Warfarin works by interfering in the production of prothrombin. It replaces the vitamin K molecules, interrupting the clotting process. If our victims had more vitamin K in their diets, they may have survived the poisoning," Robbins said.
"There's a reason to eat your liver," Grissom said to Sara, giving her an amused look.
"With fava beans?" she asked laughing.
"I have the chianti," Robbins added.
Grissom looked between the two, his amusement turning to puzzlement.
"You haven't seen 'Silence of the Lambs'?" Sara asked in surprise.
"No," he said, wondering why the other two exchanged another look before snickering.
"Oh, well," she replied. "I think I'd rather take my chances with the warfarin than eat anyone's liver. Besides, my green veggies are probably a better source of vitamin K."
Grissom sighed dramatically as his pager went off for the fifth time that morning. A quick check showed this time it came from the sheriff. "Let me know if you find anything else, Al."
Walking towards his office that afternoon, Grissom rubbed his temple as he contemplated ways of 'losing' his pager. How was he supposed to do his job if he was constantly talking to the paper pushers? Finding Catherine in the Trace Lab, he stopped to give her an upset stare.
"Where have you been?"
"Doctor's office. Lindsey's been sick. Told you twice and e-mailed you."
"Oh, right," he said distractedly, resuming his journey.
"Lindsey's fine. Just a bug. Thanks for asking," Catherine said in a huff.
"Of course she's fine. Everyone in the building would know if she wasn't," Grissom pointed out irritably.
"Oh, somebody's in a good mood today," she said sarcastically, following him into his office and dropping into a chair. She ignored his pointed look as he picked up a folder, reviewing notes from their latest homicide scene. "Meet Max yet? He was supposed to stop by this morning to help Sara."
"So?"
"Figured you'd want to meet Sara's new … friend."
"Why?" he snorted.
"Thought you'd want to meet the 'leech'. Check him out."
"You're reading too much into this, Catherine. Sara wouldn't get involved with someone like that," he said firmly, but looking to her for confirmation. "He just moved to the city last year after retiring. He probably doesn't have many friends here. If Sara wants to be nice to an elderly man, that's her business."
"Right," she said slowly, heading towards the door. "I left Linds in the break room reading while I finished up some tests. I lifted some stray fibers off the victim's uniform. Trace is running a check to see what they are. It's been a long day. Why don't you go home?"
"I have to leave for a meeting with the sheriff and a representative from the mayor's office in a few minutes. I'll head home after that," he said wearily.
"See you tonight, then," she said, heading down the hallway, shaking her head slightly. Spotting Warrick exiting a lab, she changed course towards him. "Hey."
"How's Linds?"
"Fine, just the flu," she said, smiling kindly. "Getting ready to take her home now. What are you up to?"
"Just finished fuming those chains. Not a single print. Killer must have been wearing gloves."
"Damn."
"Cath," he said, stopping suddenly. "I've heard of buying clothes big so your kid can grow into them, but isn't that going overboard?"
She turned to see what he was watching, laughing when she saw her daughter exiting the bathroom, wearing a sweatshirt that came well below her knees. Heading into the break room, they found her taking a seat at the table, a stack of drawings in front of her.
"Hey, kid. How you feeling?" Warrick asked, picking up one of the intricate geometric designs.
"Okay," she sniffled.
"Wow. Those are nice," Cath said, looking up when Sara came in carrying a stack of pizza boxes and a large bag. "Did you do these?"
"Yeah. They're easy to make too, once you know how. Dr. Brandenburg showed me. That's Sara's boyfriend," she said, "Can we stay for lunch?"
"Gee, I don't know. Think there's enough for more than two people?" she snickered as Sara tried to hide her blush.
"I don't know what he ordered," Sara muttered, opening the bag. "Salads. Breadsticks. Fried zucchini. One kid-sized plain cheese pizza. Guess that's for you," Sara said, giving Lindsey a smile as she turned to the boxes. "Black olive and mushroom. Green pepper and onion. Dessert pizza."
"Your boyfriend, huh?" Warrick laughed as he went to get a cup of coffee.
"Well, he's a friend who happens to be a guy," she said, giving him a warning look.
"He's nice, Mom. He let me wear his sweatshirt. And he's really, really big," she said, holding out her arms for emphasis.
"Ah, Linds, you shouldn't go around saying things like that," Catherine said, brushing a lock of hair from her daughter's face.
"Well, they do say honesty is the best policy," a deep voice said behind her.
Closing her eyes and grimacing, Catherine felt herself blushing.
"I'm sorry," she began apologetically, turning around. After a momentary pause, she took a step back in confusion, running her eyes up and down his body, vaguely aware of Warrick's sputtering cough by the coffee machine.
The mathematician had to be well over 250 pounds, she decided, and the tank top and shorts he wore covered very little of it. Sara was right; he was hairy. A wide grin formed as she cocked her head to look towards the blushing brunette and then back to her 'boyfriend'. Damn!
Heavily muscled and standing around 6'7'', he carried his weight very well. With a mop of unruly blond hair and a deep tan, the only indication he wasn't a college-aged surfer were the few wrinkles around his expressive green eyes.
"So you're Dr. Brandenburg," she said airily, flipping her hair back. Watching his eyes dance with amusement, she smiled appreciatively at him. Even without the scarring around his nose, he'd never would have been considered especially handsome, but he had a natural charisma.
"Call me Max."
"Sure thing, Max," she said, running her eyes down his body again.
"Damn, girl," Warrick whispered in Sara's ear. "You like to surprise us, don't you?"
"Max, that's Catherine Willows. This is Warrick Brown," Sara said, fighting the urge to laugh at her colleague's behavior.
"Hey," Warrick said, crossing the room to shake hands. "Thanks for your help on this case."
"You're welcome. I must admit I like a challenge," he said, tilting his head to give Sara a subtle smile, causing her to smirk.
Catherine and Warrick exchanged confused stares as they took seats around the table. The teasing they had subjected Sara to since she took this case suddenly didn't seem as funny. Both realized Sara never corrected their misconceptions about his size or age, and each wondered why.
Brandenburg limped around to take a seat next to Sara, pulling over another chair to rest his injured leg on, taking a moment to adjust his knee brace. Looking up, he saw the two exchanging glances, each making slight shrugs. Sara flashed him a grin when he looked at her.
"Please, help yourself," the mathematician said with an amused smile, indicating the meal. "Your taxes are paying for it."
"Say, Max. I thought you were retired," Catherine said, nibbling on a bread stick.
"I am, for the most part. I sold my consulting company to my employees before I moved out here. I still help them on occasion."
"You look awfully young to be retired," she continued.
"I'm 38."
"Why Vegas?" Warrick asked after giving Sara a shocked look.
"This," he said, pointing to the scarring. "I was helping a friend bring in his boat. There was a tropical storm coming up the coast, and he'd waited too long – storm was pretty rough by then. The wind broke a lashing, causing the boom to come loose. Besides a skull fracture and a serious concussion, it damaged my sinuses. The doctors finally suggested I move somewhere with a lower humidity."
"You know, since all the irrigation was put in, the humidity in the area isn't as low as it used to be," Sara said.
"I know, but it's still better than the coast. I didn't think I'd ever get use to the desert, but I have to admit, there's some spectacular things here," he said, smiling at Sara.
"Oh," Catherine said, exchanging another stare with Warrick. "Uh, did you manage to figure anything out? With the case?"
"It looks like the killer was trying to do some deformations," Max said, after swallowing some salad. "Except the contours he tried it on weren't suitable."
"Uh, huh."
"And in English, that means it doesn't look like this guy is any good in math," he continued. "Simply put, a contour is a collection of joined line segments. A deformation is an equation that can change the shape of some contours. He tried to use it on the wrong type of contours."
Taking the bag that had held their meal and borrowing a marker from Lindsey, Brandenburg drew a circle. "In order to do a deformation, the contour has to be closed. It also has to divide the plane into two parts. Everything that's inside the contour and everything that's outside of it. A simple deformation on this shape would be to double the value of every point. That would give you a bigger circle."
"Wouldn't any closed shape have two parts?" Catherine asked.
"Not necessarily," he said, drawing a sideways eight. "This is closed, but there are three sections. There's one part inside the left loop, one part inside the right loop and everything else. This is one of the shapes he tried to apply a deformation."
"Isn't that a lemniscate?" Warrick asked. "He had one of those bow shapes at the first scene."
"It could be, but not likely. A contour in complex analysis also has a direction associated with it. It has a starting point and an ending point. Regular graphs don't. Besides, he didn't leave any polar equations at this scene, and known of the other contours he used look like one of the polar equations from the other murder."
"We haven't been able to find any solid links between the equations used at the two scenes," Sara added.
"I've never heard of complex analysis before. Is that an obscure branch of math?" Warrick asked. "And those trig identities he used aren't common, either. We looking at a crazy mathematician?"
"What other type is there?" Sara quipped.
"Well, there are mathematicians of limited ability, but they end up as physicists."
"Am I missing something?" Catherine asked shortly, darting her eyes between the two grinning scientists.
"Inter-disciplinary rivals," Warrick explained.
"Really? I thought a theoretical mathematician and a theoretical physicist would have a lot in common."
"There's no need to be insulting," Brandenburg said, a wink softening his harsh tone.
"Theoretical math is bizarre," Sara said.
"Unlike quantum mechanics," he countered. "No offense, but theoretical physics can be considered a very narrow branch of applied mathematics."
"Ha! Pure mathematicians like to brag their work has no use in the real world," Sara added, Brandenburg nodding eagerly in agreement.
"That's true. And to answer your earlier question: complex analysis isn't an obscure branch of mathematics, but it's not as common as statistics or linear algebra. Depending on the school, a math major may cover it as an undergraduate, although many schools consider it a graduate level course."
"So our killer has some familiarity with math."
"Not necessarily. The university library probably has a dozen books on the subject. And whoever wrote this did make mistakes. They're fairly basic. I get the feeling whoever did this doesn't understand some fundamental math," Brandenburg said.
"Someone who's self-taught?" Sara asked.
"Possibly."
A page broke the silence. "I've got to run. Thanks for your help, man," Warrick said, shaking hands again before heading out the door.
"Yeah, you about done, kiddo?" Catherine asked her daughter, who nodded and pulled off the sweatshirt to hand back with a smile. "Okay. Be seeing you around Max."
"Be seeing you, Catherine. You get well soon, kiddo," he said kindly, before turning his attention back to Sara. "So what are you going to do next?"
"I'm heading home to get some sleep before coming back in tonight," she said, covering a yawn. "Sorry about that."
"Do you ever get a night off?" he asked with a grin.
"I'm scheduled off tomorrow, but I'll probably work the overtime."
"How about we grab dinner before you come in?" he asked, resting his head on his hand.
"What?"
"Well, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't offer to take you out on your night off?" he asked playfully, his eyes sparkling when she gave him an embarrassed look.
"Uhm, you know she's just a kid. Nine, I think. I don't know where she got that idea."
"Really?" he chuckled. "Do you have a boyfriend?"
"No," she admitted slowly.
"Are you looking for one?"
"Ah … well …" she began hesitantly.
"Well, how about a … friend … you have dinner with on occasion? Maybe watch a movie with when you're feeling especially merciful?" he asked, giving her playful smile.
"Okay," she said with a grin.
"Good. Now back to dinner tomorrow. Do you like Thai food? A friend of mine is the new head chef over at The Siam Palace. He claims to make the best vegetarian food in the city."
"How did you know I'm a vegetarian?" she asked, turning to look at him in surprise.
"We've had several meals together. You haven't eaten meat at any of them. Figured it was a safe guess."
Sara shrugged happily, flashing him another grin. "Sounds good. I'll meet you there, so I can come straight in to work, if that's okay with you."
"That's fine. I'll arrange reservations, and give you a call with the details."
Grissom glanced at the clock pointedly when Sara finally arrived in the break room in response to his page. They'd been waiting on her for nearly 40 minutes. While he debated chiding her for her delay, Nick let out a whistle.
"You're awfully dressed up tonight. No jeans or T-shirt. Did a hot date get interrupted?" he asked in mock-sympathy.
"Just a dinner date," she said, taking a seat at the break room table.
"What? I do, on rare occasions, have a social life," she said when the others turned towards her. She stared at Grissom pointedly when he gave her a disapproving look. "Is there something special about dinners around here that no one bothered to tell me about? You're acting like it's a lifetime commitment or something."
"Calm down, girl. Just teasin' ya."
"Sorry I'm late," she said calmly to Grissom. "I was on the other side of town. It is my night off. What's up?"
He stared at her for a moment, wondering whether he was meant to comment on her earlier statement. She hadn't called it dinner with a friend, but a date. What type of point was she trying to make? Was she trying to make a point? Giving her a last quizzical look, he turned to the others.
"Brass asked around the various nursing homes to see if anyone was missing any warfarin. No one was, but the good folks at West Brook decided to run a new inventory to double-check. They came up missing a 300-count bottle."
"Damn," Warrick swore softly. "That's enough for the killer to poison 20 people."
Grissom nodded. "They reviewed their surveillance tapes and found one of their maintenance staff taking the bottle. We have a warrant for his house. Vests and guns everybody. If he's our killer, assume he's dangerous."
"That's an understatement," Warrick muttered as they headed to the locker room, stealing a quizzical look at Sara. "You're dating Max?"
"We just had dinner," she sighed.
"Seems like a nice guy."
"He is," she said as she stashed her purse away.
"Then again, so did Hank," he pointed out.
"You're such a friend," she said sarcastically, grabbing her gear and heading out.
"She's dating that mathematician?" Nick asked in disbelief. "Sara and Gussy?"
"Got a hundred bucks says you won't call him that to his face," Warrick stated.
"Easiest hundred I've ever made."
"Look, Bobby, we know you stole the drugs. They have a video camera watching the drug lockup all the time. Why don't you tell us the rest?" Brass asked calmly, giving the young man across the table a friendly smile.
"I didn't do nothin'. I tole you I never opened the bottle. I threwed it away."
"You 'threwed it away' where?" Grissom asked impatiently.
"Over some fence."
"Okay, let's try this again. You see, right now, you're our favorite suspect in a serial murder case. Now, tell us the truth," Brass warned.
"I did. My granma takes that drug. She said it made the pain in her legs go away. Thought I could sell it on the street, but no one wanted it. So I threwed it away."
"It eased your grandmother's pain because it thinned her blood, preventing clots from forming. Warfarin isn't a narcotic," Grissom explained.
"See, listen to that dude. I didn't do nothin'. Let me go."
"Wrong, Mr. Jacobs. You see, we need to know where those drugs are. Because someone is using the same thing to murder people. How do I know you aren't the guy doing it?" Brass asked him pointedly, turning when the door opened.
"Hey," Sara said entering the interrogation room. "We found a bottle of warfarin in an abandoned lot down the block from his house. His prints are on the bottle. The safety seal was still intact. We opened it and counted the pills anyway. All 300 were in it."
"I tole you! Now, I'm leaving."
"No, you're not," Brass said with a smile. "Your former employers have filed theft charges against you. You're going to be our guest for a while. We might even 'threwed' away the key."
"Damn," Sara swore angrily as they headed back to the lab, causing Grissom to flinch.
"I'm … sorry … your dat … dinner was interrupted," he said shortly.
"I don't care about dinner. I thought we had the source of the drug. Dammit! Now what? None of the evidence is leading us to the killer."
Grissom let out a sigh as he picked up his pace to keep up with her as she stalked down the hallway, wondering if Catherine had been right in asking if upsetting Sara was a natural talent he possessed.
"Well hello, Catherine."
"Max. You clean up well," she said lightly, walking over the reception desk, nodding her approval at his tailored sports coat and slacks. "What brings you here?"
"I was having dinner with Sara when she got called into work. I thought she might want her leftovers for lunch. Or whatever you call a meal you eat in the middle of the night," he said, the handles of a carryout bag resting on his cast and a large cup of coffee in his hand.
"Come on. I think she's back from interrogation."
Leading him back to the break room, she saw Nick and Warrick talking at the end of the hallway, and started shaking her head when she recognized the teasing look on the taller CSI's face.
"Hey, Nick. Remember our bet?"
"About Gussy?" he smirked.
"That's him with Cath."
"Damn," Nick whispered when he turned to look down the hallway.
"I'll see you on pay day."
"Damn."
"Guys, is Sara around?" Cath asked, smiling at Nick's shocked expression.
"She's in the Layout Room with Griss," Warrick said.
"You can't take food into the labs. Why don't you wait in the break room, Max?"
"Of course."
Nick jogged over, nodding at Warrick to follow him. Turning to give his friend a grin, he walked into the break room and headed towards the mathematician.
"So, Max. I'm Nick Stokes. Nice to meet you," he said, shaking his hand and giving him a wide grin.
"Hello," he replied, eyeing the smaller man in amusement.
"You're from the South, too?"
"I'm from Virginia."
"Interesting. Gustav-Maximilian. Is that a family name?"
"Yes, I'm named after my grandfather," he said patiently
"Tell me, did anyone ever call you 'Gussy' growing up?"
"Never more than once," Brandenburg said, looking down on him in annoyance.
"Not surprised," Nick said, backing up and grabbing a cup of coffee, smiling as he passed Warrick.
Catherine entered the Layout Room, where Sara was explaining the latest set of mathematics to Grissom. While Sara worked at the overhead projector, he stole an occasional glance to smile impressively as she rolled through the equations. He'd save himself a lot of trouble if would tell Sara what he thought on occasion, she decided.
"Hey, Sara. You have a visitor," Catherine said, hoping the younger woman would come along quietly. She didn't want Grissom to find out from her that Sara was dating again.
"Who?" she asked in confusion.
"Your lunch delivery," Catherine said, subtlety nodding in the direction of the hallway.
"I didn't order any lunch."
Letting out a sigh, Catherine walked into the room with a forced smile. She noticed that Grissom was paying close attention to the exchange. Damn. Well, he was bound to find out sooner or later. It wasn't like the mathematician blended into a crowd.
"Max is here. He brought your leftovers from dinner. He's in the break room," she explained.
"Oh. Excuse me. I'll be right back," she said, smiling nervously at Grissom.
"You may as well take a lunch break now," he said, wondering why she seemed anxious.
"Okay. Uh, if you have any questions for Max…"
"No, I don't think so. You've got this covered."
"Right. We'll be in the break room," she said, getting up to leave quickly.
Catherine gave her a friendly smile as she passed, watching with amusement as Grissom followed Sara's progress out the room. He scowled deeply and cocked his head in confusion. She took a seat near him, glancing at the equations they had been examining. She cleared her throat softly when Grissom continued to stare out the door.
"I told you he was a leech. Why is he here in the middle of the night?" Grissom groused to the blonde.
"Gil, I think you should go meet Max," she said softly, wondering if she wanted to be in the building when those introductions were made. This had the potential to get messy.
"Why?"
"Don't you think you should meet the guy before you make judgments about him?" Catherine asked, raising an amused eyebrow when he looked away, clearly embarrassed. "Well, how about common courtesy then? He's doing us a favor helping on this case. It's not like we're paying him."
"We may as well be. You haven't seen the meals we're paying for," he said, giving her an irritated look when she snorted. He knew she thought he was being petty, but he'd interrupted their dinner by calling Sara in for a false lead. The least he could was give them a few minutes to chat.
Grissom watched as she left the room, his anger being replaced by confusion. He knew she was right. Brandenburg was doing the department a favor. His eyes glanced at the stacks of materials he had provided. This had taken hours to gather and summarize.
At the very least, he should meet the man out of courtesy, but he doubted his company would be welcomed. Grissom thought Sara was upset with him, but he wasn't sure. She maintained a professional attitude the whole time, but hadn't responded to the jokes he'd made trying to lighten the tension since his comments outside the interrogation room.
She used to joke with him all the time.
Letting out a long sigh, he rubbed his hand over his beard. What was Sara doing? He didn't believe she was seriously dating the older man. She'd have to be terribly lonely to even consider it. His hand paused as he thought about that. Just how lonely was she?
Giving his head a shake, he walked over to the photos on the walls. Sara wasn't so naïve that she wouldn't recognize what the mathematician was trying to do. Was she trying to give him a warning that he was running out of time? If so, he didn't appreciate the game.
Turning his attention back to the equations, he tried not to think about the fact that Sara wasn't one to play games, or what the implications of that meant.
Nick and Warrick finished their coffee and left the break room so Sara and Max could talk in private. Heading down the hallway, Warrick gave his friend a sharp look.
"You still owe me."
"I called him 'Gussy'. You owe me," Nick stated.
"No, you didn't. You asked if anyone ever called him that."
"And in the process, I called him 'Gussy'. You owe me."
"No way," Warrick said.
"Hold on. This could be fun," Nick said playfully, holding out an arm to stop his colleague. Pointing to the DNA Lab, he nodded in that direction as he started walking.
" … just don't see what Sara sees in him," the Texan said dramatically, shaking his head in disbelief, while Warrick rolled his eyes.
"In who?" the lab tech asked, looking up suddenly.
"Hey, Greg. It's nothing. Really. It's, well, Sara's new … boyfriend … is in the break room," he said sympathetically, carefully placing his emphasis, prompting the tech to excuse himself.
"That was cold, man," Warrick whispered as Greg exited the lab.
"Probably," Nick conceded. "Wanna go watch?"
"Oh, yeah," he said, as they quickly followed Greg down the hallway.
Their prey noticed the commotion behind him and turned to see what was going on as he entered the break room, stopping suddenly when he hit a wall.
"Easy there," it said in a friendly voice.
Turning forward, Greg found himself staring at a broad chest. He ran his eyes upward, tilting his head and stepping back to reach the face.
"Gah."
"Max, that's Greg Sanders. Our DNA tech," Sara said, shaking her head slowly.
"Hello, Greg," the mathematician said, grinning wildly when the lab tech watched nervously as his hand disappeared in Max's grip.
"Hi," he finally choked out.
Sara went to the door, shooting her colleagues a dangerous look, sending them chortling back down the hallway, exchanging a high-five. Just because one of them had a social life wasn't reason for them to torture poor Greg.
"What's the joke?" Grissom asked as he exited the Layout Room.
"Nothing," Warrick said quickly. "I've got to get to Trace."
"Nick?"
"Greg just met Max. The guy Sara's dating? You know Greg has a crush on Sara. I, uh, think he was surprised," he said slowly, wondering why Warrick was wincing painfully and shaking his head behind Grissom.
"Really?" Grissom said evenly. After giving Nick an odd look, he headed to the break room slowly, his curiosity piqued further when he saw a shell-shocked Greg walking down the hallway.
He heard their laughter as he rounded the corner, and found himself getting irritated that no one seemed to be working. Pursing his lips, he shook his head slightly. It was Sara's night off, after all. Since the raid had been a bust, there was no reason she had to stay. And he had told her to take a lunch break. He couldn't complain if she had a visitor, especially one who was helping the lab with an investigation.
Perhaps it was time to meet this mathematician.
TBC