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 edited version for this site. The original version 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 6
"Sara."
Hearing her name called, the CSI altered her course and headed towards the receptionist's desk. There, Judy gave her a befuddled look before pointing to a box sitting on the corner. Giving her head a shake, Sara walked over and pulled the card off the box. Not surprisingly, it was from her oversized admirer.
"This will have to do until I can convince you to stay for the real treat, Max."
Grinning widely, she tucked the card into the pocket of her jeans. She was bound to get enough teasing without the others seeing that innuendo. Sara opened the box to reveal a cake elaborately decorated with edible flowers.
"That's so sweet," Judy sighed, prompting the brunette to look up and flash her a grin.
"Swing by the break room later and help yourself," she called out as she gathered up her latest present and headed down the hallway happily.
A broad smile formed as she walked towards the break room. He really was a flirt. She thought about telling Max that he didn't need to send her presents, but Sara had to admit she was enjoying the experience. Not only was it nice to have a man clearly and openly state his interest, but the joy in shocking her co-workers couldn't be overlooked. She'd be the first to admit she wasn't exactly a social butterfly, but it wasn't outside the realm of probability that a man would be interested in her.
Sara's joyful mood dissipated when she entered the break room. Grissom was there with his back towards the door as he poured a cup of coffee. Letting out a silent sigh, she briefly considered leaving until he went back to his office, but quickly dismissed the idea. He'd find out soon enough. Might as well get this explosion over with quickly.
"Hey," she called out politely, setting the box on the table.
"Hey," he replied softly, glad that she didn't sound upset. After his curt behavior yesterday, he was expecting her to be angry. Turning around, his smile became forced when he saw the cake. He darted his eyes from it to look at her expectantly.
"A gift," she said, walking over to the counters, looking for a knife. Finding one, she grabbed it and some napkins before turning around to find Grissom still watching her carefully.
"It's not your birthday, is it?" he asked uncertainly, not bothering to ask for confirmation on who had sent the present. That clearly wasn't a cake from the baked goods section of a supermarket.
"No." Sara shrugged, passing Grissom to pour herself to a cup of coffee.
"Oh."
She paused briefly when she walked back to the table. For a moment, his expression had seemed almost pained. What reason did he have to be hurt? It had been his choice to not pursue a relationship. Going over to the cake, she began slicing it, looking up to see Grissom's intense stare. The depth of emotion in his eyes was startling, if short-lived. Despite all that happened, she didn't want to be a source of pain for him. If he didn't want to be intimate, maybe they could at least be friends again.
"Help yourself to a piece," she said kindly, taking a sliver for herself.
"Maybe later," Grissom replied, cocking his head in puzzlement as she closed her eyes and smiled after taking a bite.
"Sorry," she said, her expression belying any traces of regret. Max remembered – it had only been a casual remark, but he had remembered. One morning while having coffee at the diner, she'd passed on a slice of cake, saying she disliked their frosting. She mentioned to Max she preferred buttercream – rich and smooth, without being too sweet.
The difference was remarkable. After years of knowing each other, Grissom still didn't know when her birthday was. Each year, the others would treat her to breakfast after shift. It was a tradition they celebrated with and for each other. Sometimes Grissom even joined in.
Of course, she doubted he'd recall Nick or Greg's birth dates either. For a man with a remarkable memory and a keen sense of observation, he showed remarkably little interest in the people surrounding him.
Grissom was an enigma; too bad he'd never let her get to know him better. It would have been an interesting adventure.
The subject of her observation sipped his coffee in a state of bewilderment. It wasn't her birthday; he'd been certain of that before he'd asked the question, but that guy had sent her a cake. Why? Did they have something to celebrate?
Deciding he really didn't want to know the answer to that question, he took a seat at the table, making the motions of going through the night's assignments. When the others entered, he tried to ignore the teasing and the near-orgasmic sounds as they sampled the dessert.
After a few moments, he cleared his throat and waited until he had everyone's attention, despite the fact it highlighted that he was the only one not joining in the impromptu party.
"Catherine, did you find anything in the phone records?"
"Well, yeah, actually, we did," she said in a syrupy tone, causing Sara to hide her grin behind her coffee cup. "We know the first victim ordered carryout from the same restaurant every Saturday."
"Up until the night he was killed," Grissom added.
"Yeah. The second victim ordered from the same restaurant twice in the past six months. The most recent was seven weeks ago."
"But neither victim placed an order on the day they were poisoned," Grissom said, looking over his glasses at Warrick for confirmation.
"Right," he said. "We talked to the owner, the wait staff. Neither victim had been in there on the day they were poisoned."
"Could just be a coincidence," Nick pointed out. "The second victim's girlfriend said he'd grab a bite to eat at whatever happened to be convenient. That restaurant is on the route between his dry cleaner and his apartment."
"True," Grissom said, rubbing a hand over his beard. "But right now it's the only link between the victims that we have."
"Have you checked with the F.B.I.?" Sara asked calmly.
The others turned to face him expectantly. They all knew his aversion to working with the federal government on cases.
"Our new sheriff would prefer to keep this in house for now. We've been in contact with the feds, and they've checked their databases. No similar crimes have been reported."
Pausing to take a sip of his coffee, he noted the dejected looks on their faces. He understood their frustrations, but all they could do now was wait.
"We've done all we can do with the evidence we have. Until we locate the original victim, the source of the warfarin, or we get another victim, there's nothing more we can do," Grissom told them softly.
Handing out the night's assignments, he surprised everyone – including himself – by pairing up with Sara on a hit-and-run in the desert outside of Boulder City. She'd given him a brief, confused look before gathering her kit and meeting him in the parking lot.
Pulling into traffic, Grissom took a moment to glance at Sara, who sat staring out the side window. He had no idea why he'd done this. It had been a spur of the moment thing. He needed to talk to her, but he had no idea what needed to be said.
Turning his attention back to the road, Grissom recalled their first meeting and his joy at having such an enthusiastic student. It seemed like a lifetime ago. In a way, it was, he realized. So much had changed in his life since he'd invited her to take a position here. In the process, they'd grown apart, despite being closer geographically.
When he'd offered Sara the job, he hadn't considered the consequences. He never thought for a moment that she'd grow to be interested in him. She was so much younger. He certainly hadn't realized how he'd fall for her, or how he'd damage their friendship by trying to avoid an unprofessional relationship.
She was a favorite student, someone in whom he could feel pride as he watched her progress through the ranks. Sara had been so eager to learn, hanging on to everything he'd said. It had been too long since he'd appreciated her attention. Too long since he had appreciated her.
He was losing Sara.
"Cases involving signature killers are always difficult, both personally and professionally," he began once the silence became too uncomfortable.
.Sara twisted around in her seat to face him, a curious expression barely visible in the reflected lights from the street.
"They are typically of above-average intelligence. They take their time to pick out their victims, to stage their scenes. It means they plan out their killings in detail in advance. They are less likely to make a careless mistake, making them harder to catch. And they won't stop until they are caught," he continued softly.
Sara regarded him calmly, her head tilted slightly as she tried to process his behavior. This was different. Normally his mood swings took days, if not weeks, to manifest. He'd gone from his curt behavior last shift to being more than civil in only one night. When had Grissom switched to being a rapid-cycling jackass?
Interestingly, she found herself more curious than angry by his abrupt change in behavior. In a perverse sort of way, she was learning something new about him. Sara wondered if this was a variation of his typical pattern, of if she was experiencing an all-new game of his.
Cocking her head to a different angle, as if a new perspective would reveal something else about him, Sara watched him carefully. Grissom was a mystery on so many levels. She doubted if a lifetime together would be enough time to understand him completely.
That actually made him more appealing.
At times.
Other times, like now, it made him frustrating to deal with. What was going on? She had given him the option of being involved, but he had turned her down. Did he honestly expect she wouldn't eventually move on? As much as she cared for him, Sara had no intentions of spending the rest of her life pining away for him.
Turning her attention back to the highway, she couldn't help but wonder what a psychologist would make of him. He certainly wasn't your typical male. No, Grissom was … unique. The poor doctor would probably retire his couch after trying in vain to get him to talk in anything other than riddles.
When she didn't respond, Grissom stole another brief glance, and then licked his lips nervously.
"Probably the hardest thing is to figure out what's the significance of signature. Each is unique to that killer. Sometimes it's fairly obvious. There will be a blatant sexual element, for example. Then, every so often, you come across a case like ours where the signature is more subtle."
She remained silent, but turned back around to face him. He darted his eyes quickly, trying to gauge her mood. Her lack of communication was beginning to get eerie. "What do you think is different in this case, Sara?"
"The victims really aren't important to the killer," she said after a moment's consideration. "It's the blood."
"Go on," he said encouragingly.
"He poisons the victims, but then he kills them in a relatively quick and painless method. There's no sexual assault, no torture. He doesn't prolong the suffering. The killer waits until they are dead before he begins draining their blood. Even then, he only mutilates the bodies in order to get access to the blood. For some reason, he keeps it from one victim to use at the next murder scene."
"Very interesting. Have you been thinking about this?" Grissom asked, turning briefly to smile at her as they waited at a traffic light.
"Aberrant psychology in general," she said, turning to fix him with a pointed look.
"Oh," he said in confusion, looking back at the light. She wasn't trying to imply something, was she? Swinging his head around, he saw Sara raise an eyebrow knowingly, causing him to blink in surprise. "Oh."
"Light's changed," she said, a hint of smile forming. "So what's up with the blood?"
"That's the question, isn't it? There's the psychological aspect of it. Blood is very symbolic. It could be hematodipsia – the derivation of sexual pleasure from blood," he said.
"I wouldn't be the woman to ask about sexual deviance," she said sarcastically.
Grissom turned his head abruptly, staring at her in shock. Sara tilted her head to give him another piercing look.
"Traffic," she said softly, her lips twitching as she turned her head forward again.
"Right," he said, shaking his head slightly as he tried to regain his composure. "Anyway, the use of blood could have religious undertones. Or it could have some significance to the killer; something from his past. At this point, we can't make that determination."
Sara nodded slowly, facing him. They didn't have enough evidence to work with at this time. "You don't think the restaurant is the link, do you?"
"I don't know. It's tempting to want it to be, and that can be dangerous. The restaurant could be the source of the poisoned food, but we don't know for a fact that it was delivered that way. The second victim hadn't been there in almost two months. For stalking a potential victim, that's a long time."
"So, it could be a coincidence?"
"It could be. With just two victims, it's hard to determine what elements belong in the signature and what are random occurrences."
Turning back to the road, Sara tried to figure out why he was being so communicative. He certainly was full of surprises tonight.
"You're a good CSI."
Snapping her head around, Sara caught him rubbing his hand through his hair before grabbing the steering wheel harder. Definitely full of surprises.
"One of the best I've ever worked with."
"Thank you," she said. Despite the softness of her voice, a hint of disbelief crept into her tone, causing him to give her a sad look. "I've had good teachers," she added softly, looking out the window again.
"There's not much left I can teach you, besides bugs," he said, the regret clear in his voice. It had hurt that she didn't believe his honest compliment, but Grissom admitted to himself that he'd probably given reasons to feel that way. "With a bit more experience, you'll be better at this than I am."
"I doubt that," she said, turning to look at him in surprise.
"I don't," he said, noticing the flashing lights of the police cruiser in the distance. Soon, they wouldn't be able to talk in private. He was running out of time. In more ways than one.
"Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow before shift?"
"I'm sorry. What did you say?" she asked after a moment. His statement had been said so quickly, it had come out sounding like one, long word. It certainly couldn't have been what she thought he had said. No, she had to have misheard him.
"I asked if you would like to grab something to eat tomorrow before work," he repeated, forcing himself to pause at the end of each word. When she didn't respond, he stole a quick glance as he turned onto the shoulder. Her open-mouthed stare didn't do much to inspire confidence.
"I'm sorry. I already have dinner plans for tomorrow," she said, shaking her head in wonderment. He actually had asked her on a date. When was the last time she had two date offers for the same night? Had she ever had two offers for the same night before?
"How about some other night?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level. Grissom didn't ask who she'd be with tomorrow. He had a pretty good idea already, and for once, he wasn't that interested in verifying a theory. It had been hard enough asking her in the first place. Didn't she understand that? Being turned down was bad enough, but the fact she was going to be with Brandenburg again only added to his pain.
"They're waiting for us," she said, hopping out of the Tahoe and grabbing her kit.
"Sara?" he whispered as he caught up to her, ignoring the looks from O'Riley.
"Let's talk later," she said, ducking under the police tape and heading towards David. They quickly processed the scene. Grissom discreetly watched her as they worked, wondering if he had waited too long to make a move. She hadn't sounded too interested.
After they gathered up their evidence and packed it away, Grissom drove them slowly back to the lab. Once they got there, he'd lose any chance for a private conversation. "Want to get some lunch on the way back?"
Letting out a sigh, Sara gave a half-hearted shrug. "Sure."
"It's not required," he said, more harshly than he intended.
"In that case, could you drop me off at the lab?" she asked softly.
"Sara … I … I don't know what to do here. I'm trying to ask you out."
"I know," she said with a slight nod of her head. "I don't think it's a good idea."
"Why not? It wasn't that long ago you were asking me out."
"More than a month, Grissom. And in all that time, you barely spoke to me. Now, I'm dating someone else, and you suddenly have an interest. Tell me, honestly, if Max wasn't around, would you be asking me out?"
"That's a hypothetical question, Sara. I don't know what I'd be doing if he wasn't around," he said. So, she was actually dating him. Damn. He should have done this earlier.
"That's a good enough answer," she said quietly, staring out the side window so she didn't have to face him.
"What do you mean?" Grissom asked in confusion. When she didn't answer immediately, he called her name softly.
"It's a matter of want. You don't really want to be with me, you just don't want anyone else to date me," Sara sighed. She didn't add her doubts about whether Grissom would remain interested if Max were out of the picture.
"That's not true," he said. "I do want you. To be with you."
"I wish I could believe you," she said, the pain evident to both of them.
"Give me a chance," he said intently.
"I did," she laughed humorlessly. "You didn't want it then. Remember?"
"Give me another chance. Just one more," he insisted.
"Can I think about it Grissom?" Sara asked after some hesitation.
"What's to think about?" he asked, turning his head briefly to watch her carefully.
"A lot," she said, nodding her head in earnest.
"Could you be a bit more specific?" he asked with an honest curiosity.
"We played this game for over three years, Grissom. It never moved anywhere. I'm not sure I want to keep playing," Sara admitted eventually.
"I think the rules are about to change," he said, darting his eyes between her and the road.
"That's not necessarily a good thing."
"Doesn't mean it's a bad thing, either."
Sara shook her head, a sad smile forming. "In all the years I've known you, I couldn't learn the first set of rules. I don't think I want to try another set. The penalties are a bitch."
"I never meant to hurt you," Grissom said contritely.
"Imagine what you could do if you set your mind to it," Sara said before she could stop herself. Whether he deserved the rebuke or not, she didn't want to be that petty. Inflicting pain brought her no pleasure. "Sorry."
"It's okay," he said eventually. The implications of her statement jarred him. Had he been blind to her pain, or didn't he care? "What if you make the rules this time?"
"Grissom … this … shouldn't be a game. It isn't about rules. There's no domination in a real relationship," she stated, looking over to see him drumming his fingers nervously on the steering wheel. "It's about trust and being honest. You really don't get that, do you?"
"Apparently not. You're barely talking to me," Grissom said, letting out a disgusted breath when his cell phone started ringing.
"Probably the pot calling to let you know you're black, Dr. Kettle, " Sara muttered softly, turning to watch the desert sky. She'd thought he'd confused her in the past, but this took the cake. No doubt Max had prompted his behavior, but Grissom had sounded sincere. Was it worth taking a chance on? Or would he lose interest as quickly as it had sprung up?
"That was Jim. Shoe prints from the warehouse haven't turned up much. Five employees wore that make and size. Three were at a bachelor party the night of the first killing. The fourth was pulled over for speeding near Laughlin at the time of the second. The fifth guy claims he was gambling both nights. They're waiting on the video tape from the casino, but Jim thinks he's telling the truth."
"Damn."
Grissom glanced over at her sadly. Her frustration had come through clearly. He wondered how much of it he was directed at him. Obviously, he'd hurt her more than he had realized.
It seemed he had waited until it was too late. Logically, it would be best to just drop this whole line of conversation. He was only going to embarrass himself and irritate Sara. She wasn't interested anymore, especially now that Brandenburg was in the picture.
All of this had been a bad idea. There were too many potential pitfalls, without adding in all the professional conflicts of dating one of his subordinates. It was easier and safer to move on. Backing off was the logical thing to do at this point.
Darting his eyes to Sara again, he was jarred by her sad expression.
Screw logic.
"Look, there's a diner up ahead. Let me buy you lunch, okay? No strings attached. If it's a horrible experience for you, just tell me, and I'll never ask you out again," he said hopefully.
"We can have lunch together, Grissom. You don't have to buy," she said, a small smile forming as she shook her head lightly.
"I did ask you out, Sara," he said gently.
"And I did say you didn't have to pay," she pointed out.
"Fair enough," Grissom said, sensing this wasn't a battle he was going to win.
Sara smiled over her drink, enjoying the meal far more than she thought she would. The conversation had been stimulating, the food delicious and the mood festive. Spending time with a man who appreciated your intelligence and expressed an interest in your background did wonders for your ego. Setting down her glass, she started to answer his question.
"No, the Pauli Exclusion Principle prevents … excuse me," she said when her pager began to vibrate. Pulling out the device, she frowned before turning to her companion. "I'm sorry, Max. I have to go."
Looking down at the table, he shook his head in irritation before giving her a rueful smile. Signaling the waiter, he asked for the check.
"You don't have to leave," Sara said softly. This was their second dinner to be interrupted by her work. He hadn't complained, but she could tell he wasn't happy.
"Well, the last time this happened, it ended up being a false alarm. If this is another one, we can continue our date some place else," he said, escorting her out of the building.
"You're upset."
"Worried," he replied.
"Why?" Sara asked as they walked towards the parking garage.
"I did this routine for more years than I care to remember. I worked all through high school, through college, then getting my company founded. I put in sixteen hours a day, six or seven days a week, never took a vacation."
"I'm not that bad," she said. On occasion, she had taken a long weekend. True, it was usually to attend a conference or a lecture, but she wasn't at work at the time.
"Good. Until I ended up in the hospital with that skull fracture, I had never gone more than two days in a row without working since I was 12."
"How long were you in the hospital?"
"Nearly three weeks," he chuckled. "For the first couple of days, I thought I'd go crazy or the nurses would push me out the window. I kept trying to have a laptop sneaked in so I could work. Then I had an epiphany."
"Really?" she said, smiling at his exaggerated motions.
"Really. The world would continue without me. The sun would rise if I didn't go to work. My employees could handle everything," he said softly, turning to give her a sharp look. "No successful organization relies on the efforts of one person."
"I don't think that," she said shortly, walking over to her Yukon.
"I never said you did. I just don't want to see you repeating the same mistakes I made."
"This job is time-sensitive. Evidence can get destroyed or degrade quickly."
"And time is linear. You can't go back and relive your life. If you work too much, you'll miss out on other things."
"Are you telling me I need to get a life?" she asked, turning to face him.
"I would never say anything that condescending. You have a life, and you use it to help others. That's a very noble thing. But your job doesn't have to be the only aspect of your life."
"Look, I need to change before I go to the scene. Can I call you later?" Sara asked, not wanting to have this discussion in a parking garage.
"Do you have a change of clothes with you? Then let me drive while you change. I'll behave. That way, if it's a bust, we can leave. If not, I'll call a cab."
Sara considered his offer, calling dispatch to get details of the crime location. It wasn't that far away. If nothing else, she'd get there quicker this way. She tried not to think about how Grissom would react if he were at the crime scene when they arrived together.
Of course, he already knew she was planning on seeing Max tonight. Grissom had been very attentive during their lunch yesterday. It would have been unnerving if she hadn't recognized he had been nervous. Grissom had given her a way out. All she had to do was say she hadn't enjoyed the lunch.
Life would be so much easier if she could have lied to him, but it hadn't been a disaster. Showing up at a crime scene with Max might be, though. Well, only one way to find out. She was tired of changing her life to suit Grissom.
"Okay," she said, hopping in the back and tossing him the keys. "But behave."
"I'll remember my grandmother's lessons."
"About being a gentleman?"
"About never pissing off a woman who owns a gun and knows how to use it."
Laughing, Sara quickly wrote down directions to the crime scene and handed them to Max before she pulled a bag from the back of the SUV. Sliding down low on the seat, she started to change as he pulled into traffic. When he started humming the tune to 'The Stripper' she shot him a wide-eyed stare, but he was watching the road intently.
"I'm being good," he said. "You can't hold it against a guy if he daydreams."
"Just keep your eye on the traffic. I don't want to end up in the hospital half-naked!"
Chuckling, he headed out of the city and into a sparsely populated suburban area. The swarm of flashing lights and media vans marked their destination. They pulled off the road near the entrance to a drive-in theater. Grabbing her kit, Sara and Max walked through the crowd, both exchanging looks at the intense reactions from the people.
"I don't think this is going to be a bust," she said. "Why don't you call a cab and head home? I'll probably be here a while."
"I think I'll be staying," he said, nodding toward the front of the crowd.
"Why?" Sara asked, twisting her head and then standing on the tips of her toes to try and see what had caught his attention. The crowd blocked her view. She could occasionally make out the row of police vehicles lined up in front of the milling groups of people. It seemed like all the activity was focused near the theater's screen.
"Here," he said, stopping to brace himself against a light pole.
"Is your leg bothering you?"
"No, I just want to make sure it doesn't give out on me. I don't want to drop you," he said, reaching over and wrapping his free arm around her waist, easily lifting her up above the throngs. From her new vantage point, she could understand his earlier statement.
A severed head was suspended from the center of the movie screen. Underneath it ran a six-foot high swath of bloody writing. From this distance, it didn't resemble any of the equations from the first two scenes, but she couldn't be sure.
Lowering her down gently, they exchanged another look before continuing their progress through the crowd, surprised when they bumped into Greg, who was going through the spectators, snapping photos.
"Crowd shots," Sara whispered. "Serial killers sometimes come back to the scene."
"Hey, guys," he called out enthusiastically. "Grissom let me tag along to help!"
The lab tech followed behind them, using the wake Max created as he bore through the crowd to take more photos. Finally reaching the front, Sara gave her date a smile as she slid under the tape and headed towards the scene. Max turned his attention towards the screen, while Greg started talking to David, who was leading a gurney towards them. After a quick introduction, Max asked for a sheet of paper, and started walking along the tapeline, trying to get a better view of the screen.
"That's Sara's boyfriend," Greg whispered to David.
"Really?"
"Height. Must be height that she likes," the tech sighed, watching the crowds part as the mathematician moved along. "First Hank, now this guy."
"Excessive musculature," the coroner's assistant opined on the approach to the body.
From the front of the crowd, Max could see the body swaying under the catwalk that ran along the front of the screen. On the screen, a series of grids had been drawn out, each segment containing writing. Taking out a pen, he quickly began jotting down notes.
Sara and Grissom locked eyes as she walked over to join her teammates. From his light facial tic, she surmised he had noticed Max and wasn't happy about it. At least he wasn't making a scene. Breaking eye contact first, she saw Brass's openly bemused expression and smiled at him.
"Sara, when Warrick gets done processing the catwalk, I need you to get up there and take the individual photos of the writing. Greg's already taken the locator shots," Grissom said after greetings were exchanged.
"Something wrong?" she asked cautiously. He was noticeably on edge, and she doubted Max accounted for all of it.
"Scene's been compromised. Stevie Wilson there," Brass said, pointing over his shoulder at the head, "was the assistant manager. Always gets here first. When the concession workers showed up, they assumed he'd already made his way to the projection booth, and let the audience in. Some of the more adventurous thought this was a stunt, and checked out the body."
"Dammit!" Sara exclaimed loudly. This scene was more exposed. The killer would have less control over it, making it more likely he left some sort of clue. The odds they'd be able to find it just dropped dramatically.
"There's nothing we can do about it now," Grissom sighed. "Come on, David's got the body down. Check the area around the body. It looks like Warrick found something. He's going to be up there for a while."
"Right," she said, walking over to the area slowly, examining the multitude of footprints in disgust. Even if the killer had left a print behind, they'd never be able to retrieve it down here. Warrick was setting up the electrostatic print-lifter on the catwalk; hopefully he'd find something useful.
"So that's our mathematician," Brass said once Sara walked out of hearing distance.
"Yes," Grissom said brusquely.
"Big guy."
"You could say that."
Brass kept his humor in check, the annoyance clear in the other man's body language. He'd been with Grissom when Sara and Brandenburg arrived, and his colleague's irritation had gone through the roof when she was hoisted above the crowd.
"Younger than I expected for a retired consultant."
"If he's actually retired."
The police captain allowed a smile to form as Grissom turned to stare back at the mathematician. Looking at the bloody writing dripping slowly down the screen, Brass nodded his head towards the crowds.
"I don't think this is what the audience was expecting for tonight's featured entertainment."
"No one comes to drive-ins for what's on the screen, Jim," Grissom stated, taking a moment to scan the audience. His anger rose when he spotted the television cameras focused on the tall mathematician, who was jotting down notes. "Dammit! He's talking to the press. Let's go."
Barreling over to the tapeline, Brass and Grissom could see the confused looks passing among the reporters as Brandenburg gestured wildly. The police captain began to chuckle as they came close enough to hear him babbling away in Russian.
"Do svidanya!" he called out, waving enthusiastically as the reporters left, shaking their heads in defeat.
"Nice trick," Brass said with a chuckle. "Wish I could get away with it. Jim Brass, Homicide. You're Professor Brandenburg?"
"Call me Max," he said, pausing long enough to shake hands with the detective and then forcing his way down the crowd to get a view of another section of the screen.
"Anything you can tell us, Dr. Brandenburg?" Grissom asked coolly.
Smiling, the mathematician continued to jot down notes, glancing up at the scene or the other two men on occasion.
"I'm sure there's all kinds of things I know that you don't, Dr. Grissom," he said lightly, raising an amused eyebrow when he saw the entomologist's upset look.
"How about anything to do with this case?" the detective asked before another murder broke out at their scene. Grissom had actually bristled after the younger man's insinuation.
"I can tell you this was done by a very poor mathematician," he muttered angrily, glaring at a spectator who had bumped into his sore leg. The gawker quickly backpedaled, offering a hasty apology. Looking around, Brandenburg leaned over the tape, trying to get some privacy in the crowd.
"Are you missing something from the first murder, by any chance?"
The two exchanged a shocked look before Grissom bellowed out for Greg, who came charging up to his supervisor.
"Get the film to the lab and tell them to rush the prints. Get copies to Dr. Brandenburg immediately. We'll be back in the lab as soon as we can. Will you be able to meet with us later?" Grissom asked.
"I can wait in the lab if there's someplace I can work."
After Grissom nodded his consent, Greg led Brandenburg away. Heading towards the screen, he walked towards Sara slowly. It was taking all his control to not yell at her. What the hell did she see it that guy? He openly implied that he and Sara were in a sexual situation, and used it as a taunt. She deserved better than someone who would treat her that way.
Grissom didn't believe the innuendo. They hadn't known each other that long. Sara wasn't the type to jump into a physical relationship that quickly. She'd have more direct in turning down his dinner request yesterday if she'd gotten serious with Brandenburg.
That guy was going to hurt her.
Closing his eyes, Grissom let out a long breath before continuing his quest. She was an adult, more than capable of handling a louse like Brandenburg. Sara wasn't naïve. She'd eventually recognize the mathematician for what he was.
And she wouldn't want to hear any of this from him. It would make him seem petty. Grissom recognized he wasn't on stable ground with Sara. He needed to re-establish their friendship. Ratting out the rat wouldn't go over well.
"Yes!"
He snapped his head up at her joyful yell. Quickly crossing the remaining distance, he knelt down behind her as she snapped some photos. Turning around to give a full-fledged grin, she used her forceps to hold up the remnants of a bloody brush.
TBC