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 complete 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 11
Sara leaned against the concrete wall of the lab, arms crossed defiantly in front of her. She had her head turned away and sunglasses covered her eyes, but from her posture Grissom gathered she was pretty angry. Probably at me.
Sara sat on a bench, a cup from one of the local coffeehouses clasped in her hands. She was bent forward, her elbows resting on her knees. Her look of sadness as she stared off in the distance was clear. Did I make her feel that way?
Sara walking out of a video store with a plastic bag; at a gas station, filling up her SUV; crossing a parking lot, possibly of her apartment complex; checking the mailbox.
Grissom dropped the last of the photos into an evidence bag, his breath labored as conflicting emotions fought for dominance. Seeing the questioning looks Brass directed towards him, he forced himself to remain collected.
Sara was safe, for now. He'd see to it she stayed that way.
The killer was still on the loose, though. At least now they had a name to place on their signature. Tomas Carrasco, twenty-four, a Las Vegas native who had dropped out of high school to form a rock band. His dreams never materialized, and he drifted through a series of dead-end jobs. Finally, he landed the starring role of delivery boy for a deli near Sara's apartment.
What were the odds of that happening? Probably better than making it in show business.
Had proximity been a factor in his decision to target Sara? Signature killers rarely switched genders of their victims. Grissom figured Brandenburg had been the target, but the photos cast doubt on that theory. Clearly, Carrasco had been following her.
He stole another glance at the evidence bag. Alone. In every shot she had been alone. Carrasco could have easily gotten to her. Even though she was trained in self-defense, all he needed was one blow to have killed her.
Damn. This had been too close.
If she hadn't pulled a double-shift that day, she would have been home all by herself, a perfect target. If Brandenburg's knee hadn't been bothering him, they would never have had advanced warning of the poisoning.
Too close.
Too something.
Fighting back a yawn, Grissom turned his attention to the other documents scattered across the card table. Printouts from various web news sites and message boards were mixed in with photocopied press clippings.
After staring at the pages for a moment, he began bagging them, being careful how he handled the papers so that any prints wouldn't be compromised. Pausing part way through, he quickly scanned the area around him.
"Nick!"
"Yeah?"
"Is there a computer or printer back there?"
"Nope."
"What about a phone?"
"Not in here," he called from the bedroom.
"Hit the bathroom when you're done with that," Grissom called out, turning to stare at Brass. "No printer, no computer. The guy doesn't even have a phone. But he has printouts from Internet sites."
"Public library has all of that. Ten cents a page for printouts," the police captain ventured.
"But they don't let you check out digital cameras. That's how those pictures of Sara were taken."
"Not likely he has an accomplice. Maybe he borrowed a friend's or family member's stuff."
"Or this isn't his center of operations," Grissom opined.
"Well, this place doesn't have a basement. There's no outbuildings, and the attic is completely empty except for a lot of undisturbed dust."
"We're missing something," Grissom stated softly, turning to walk around the room.
"Besides our killer?" Brass quipped, ignoring his colleague's angry look.
Going back to the card table, Grissom began examining the remaining documents. They were some sort of mathematical text. Equations and symbols swam before his eyes. Pausing long enough to wipe his arm across his eyes, he turned back to the cryptic writings.
It made no sense, at least to him. The equations didn't resemble anything that had been at the earlier scenes.
Was it a clue to what he planned for his next victim? What he had planned for Sara?
Grissom sighed as he turned the next page. Carrasco had highlighted some sections and written notes in the margins of the papers before he photocopied them. The notes didn't seem any clearer than the text, and the highlighted areas had darkened considerably when photocopied, obscuring some of the writing. Maybe QD could do something with it.
Unable to prevent the next yawn, Grissom stared at the page for a moment. Cocking his head, he examined the document in more detail, his subconscious clamoring for attention. Was there some clue he was overlooking? A key to the next killing? To his hideout?
Not able to discern what had caught his attention, Grissom started flipping through the pages. What wasn't right? Three pages down, he stopped cold: Sara's address and phone number were scrawled across the text. From the reddish-brown color, he presumed it was written in blood.
A distorted smiley-face stared mockingly at him from underneath her personal information.
"Sick son of a bitch," he muttered quietly as he reached for a swab. A quick test verified the stain was in fact human blood. Carrasco was taunting them. He was still going to go after Sara. "Damn him."
"Gil, go home," Brass said softly but firmly, resting a hand on his shoulder.
Grissom snapped his head to glare at the detective behind him. There was no way he was leaving this scene until it was processed. He wasn't taking any chances. Until they caught Carrasco, Sara wasn't safe. She wasn't going to spend the rest of her life wondering if this bastard was going to come back for her someday.
"You're tired. Go home. Get some sleep. Take a long shower. Go visit Sara later," Brass said, not frightened by his friend's evil looks. "You can't help her if you work yourself sick."
"I'm fine," Grissom stated, double-checking that he'd labeled the evidence correctly. He knew he was tired, but it wasn't so bad that he couldn't do his job.
"I thought getting obsessed was the killer's gig," Brass said pointedly, raising an eyebrow when Grissom jerked his head around in surprise. "Would you let any of your CSIs work this long without a break?"
He turned back to sealing the evidence bag. Sara worked shifts like this all the time. He shouldn't have let her.
How could I have stopped her? Saw to it she had an outside interest. Considering how I treated her after her last 'interest', no wonder she'd been hesitant to find another.
"Grissom," Nick called out, breaking his musing.
Turning around, the two men saw the Texan exiting the bathroom carrying a pair of blood-splattered work boots.
"Wolverines. Size 9 ½," Nick said. "Consistent with the type that left those prints we lifted back at the warehouse."
"We've got an APB out on Carrasco," Brass added, giving Grissom a pointed look. "It's my job to find him. We're tracking down his family now, seeing if he's hiding out with any of them."
"We know anything about this guy?" Nick asked.
"Never been arrested. Neighbors all report he wasn't the brightest candle in the chandelier. No one remembers him being violent or losing control. Wasn't exactly friendly, but no one considered him a threat."
"Signature killers rarely stand out," Grissom said absentmindedly as he scanned the room again. Nothing jumped out. A battered television, a few pieces of ragged furniture. No books. No magazines. "It's their ability to appear normal that makes them so dangerous. Get the rest of this bagged."
Frowning slightly, Grissom made his way to the kitchen. Seeing Sara's address had shaken his concentration. He couldn't blow this case. They'd found plenty of evidence; now wasn't the time to lose his cool. Carrasco wasn't going to walk because he messed up.
Something was off.
Giving his head a shake, Grissom walked to the refrigerator. He probably was just tired. It had been nearly forty hours since he last saw his bed. They had been in the middle of a double-shift when they had taken Sara to the hospital, and he'd been working since he left her there.
He'd take a nap after he visited Sara. Visiting hours wouldn't start for a while. He had plenty of time to finish this, and then do some work at the lab.
Carefully opening the fridge door, he quickly verified no blood was present. Where was it? The blood used to write the equations at all the scenes had been fresh; none had been frozen. To keep it fresh, especially in the desert heat, it had to be refrigerated.
Carrasco must have it with him. Was he planning to try to kill Sara again? She'd be safe in the hospital. Until Carrasco was caught, they'd have police watching her hospital room and then her apartment. He probably wouldn't take that kind of risk.
Probably.
But he'd already broken his signature once, by targeting Sara. Grissom sighed as he looked in the freezer. Profiling was more of an art than a science. It provided guidelines, not hard facts. While it could be very helpful in many cases, it was less handy when dealing with atypical killers like Carrasco.
Did he have a backup victim in mind? Did he have a second location to work from?
"Nick, did you find any warfarin bottles?" Grissom called out, opening the closest cupboard and sorting through the contents methodically.
"Not a one. And no sign of a machete, or a sword, no big blades," he said, moving to stand beside the kitchen door.
"Start loading up the evidence," he said, quickly searching the small kitchen while Nick packed their evidence.
No blood, no large blades, no warfarin, no brushes.
Carrasco had his tools with him. He was going to strike again.
The question was who the victim would be.
Jacqui looked up when Grissom strode into her lab. Hopping off of her stool, she waved him over to a display.
"The wrappers around the poisoned sandwiches and pickles had multiple prints on them."
"Makes sense," he nodded. Any number of employees could have come in contact with the material in the process of wrapping and packaging the food, not to mention Sara or Brandenburg's prints when they opened it.
"I have a positive match to Max; he has a national security clearance. His prints were on file with the FBI," she explained, pulling up some images on the computer. "There were also two clear prints that are unknowns. Nothing out of AFIS yet. There were several smudges and partials."
"Do any match what we lifted from the brush?"
"I couldn't swear to in court, but I think this is a match to one of them," she said, highlighting various reference points. "It's too smudged to be a high-probability match."
"Dammit."
"Well," she said, turning to look at him sympathetically. "Sara's door is another story. Two hand prints are a definite match to the partials we found earlier."
"That doesn't prove anything," he sighed in resignation. If Jacqui couldn't make the match, no one could. So far, they couldn't establish he had tampered with the food, only that he'd delivered it.
"He could have used the flat of his hand to knock. Nick's logging the evidence we brought in. There are some paper items in QD. Work with them. I don't want to take any chances with the prints. There's also a marble mortar and pestle," Grissom added.
"I love marble," she said, giving him a grin.
"I thought you would," he acknowledged. By itself, the stone was an excellent medium from which to lift prints. Considering it took two hands to use the mortar and pestle, it offered the best chance of success.
"I'll get right on it."
"Good," he said, heading towards DNA.
They had plenty of evidence, but linking it all together now was the key. At least they could establish Carrasco had been stalking Sara and had been to her apartment, but that didn't link him to the murders.
If the substance in the mortar was warfarin, and the blood on the boots matched any of their previous victims, then they'd have a serious case against him.
If they had a case.
Grissom tilted his head as he entered Greg's domain. It felt like he was missing something. Maybe Brass had been right. He was tired. Combined with his concern for Sara, he was jumping at shadows.
He wasn't as young as he used to be; working this many hours straight was taking its toll. He would have to take a nap after he left the hospital, or he'd be saying Carrasco was the wrong suspect.
"No luck with the deli wrappers," the lab tech said. "If there was any DNA on them, the wax ruined it. I've gotten something off the paper sack they were in. It's replicating now. Won't know if it's the killer's for a while."
"Let me know once you get anything."
"Will do, boss. If there's something else I can do, if you need a hand outside…"
"You're not going to a scene! I'm not going to risk this case because of a rookie mistake," Grissom snapped, closing his eyes briefly when he saw Greg take a step back. A nap was definitely in order.
"Sorry, just want to help."
"I know, Greg. If you want to help Sara, then do what you do best. Right now, it's this," Grissom said apologetically, holding his arms out to indicate the lab. "You're one of the best lab techs we have. There will be other cases you can go out in the field on."
"Thanks."
"I've got a pair of bloody boots – they're dirty, blood's dried up," Grissom said lightly. "Who knows how degraded it is. Think you can do something with them?"
"Oh, yeah," he said, giving his head a shake. "I'll start the immunoassays, see if the enzymes match. That'll verify if the blood matches any of the victims. So, if I crack this case, what do I get?"
"You get to keep your job."
"Right," Greg said slowly, unsure if his supervisor was serious.
Grissom left DNA, making his way to the morgue. It would take Tox, QD and A/V time to make anything of their respective evidence as well. Finding Robbins at his workstation, Grissom walked over and took a nearby seat.
"Good morning, Gil. How's Sara?"
"I was hoping you could tell me," Grissom said, rubbing a hand distractedly through his hair as he explained her worsened condition.
"Sounds about right," the coroner said, giving his colleague an apologetic shrug when he looked shocked. "Consider the timeline. Warfarin takes at least twenty four hours to become fully effective."
"It hadn't been that long from when she ingested the poisoned food until we got her to the hospital," Grissom realized.
"Right. Her body hadn't had time to completely react to the warfarin before."
"But they started the vitamin K treatment immediately."
"It'll take a couple of days before it completely reverses the effects. Until then, Sara's essentially a hemophiliac. She'll bleed profusely from any nick. The warfarin also weakens the blood vessels, so she's going to bruise easily for a while," Robbins said, giving him a friendly look.
"What about long-term problems?"
"It's not really well-documented. There's a chance there could be some liver problems, but it's not likely. Remember, warfarin is far more dangerous in multiple, smaller doses."
"Any short-term problems?"
"She's going to hurt like hell for a few days until the swelling in the joints goes down, but she should be fine."
"Thanks, Al," Grissom said, swearing as his pager went off. Another call from the sheriff.
"Deli looked clean," Catherine said, walking into Grissom's office. Taking a seat across from him, she eyed him disapprovingly. "You don't. Did you even go home yesterday?"
"No," he stated, ignoring her grimace as he turned back to the file on his desk. "Carrasco probably laced the food with warfarin after he left the deli. Why would the delivery guy be opening the packages inside the deli? It would have drawn attention to him."
"Probably doped the food in his car. Uniforms are looking for it now."
Catherine watched as her friend slowly sorted through crime scene photos. The lack of speed wasn't just because he was being overly cautious. It looked like his eyes were being kept open by sheer willpower.
Brass had called her about the incident at the house. Grissom was taking this personally, and he wasn't resting. He was going to make a mistake or get hurt if he wasn't careful. Trying to convince him of that was going to be a problem.
Maybe.
"Heard you found the good stuff," she goaded.
"There was a mortar, pestle, bloody boots, some mathematical text," he said evenly. "Photos of Sara."
"So, she was the target. What about the smiley-face?"
Grissom gave her a pointed look. "Been talking to Jim?"
"You know it."
"I'm fine," he stated, looking up long enough to give her a false smile.
"No, you're not. You're letting the killer get to you. That 'message' was left to distract us. It's working, at least with you."
"Catherine," he said, pausing as her comment replayed in his mind. "I have a meeting with the sheriff at 6 a.m. There's no point trying to get any rest between now and then. After that, I'm going to visit Sara at the hospital. I'll go home when I leave there."
"Okay," she sighed. It was better than nothing. "How does Sara fit with the profile?"
"She doesn't," he admitted.
"That's weird."
"Remember, he could have broken his signature if he felt insulted. The killer may have been afraid to go after Max. Sara would have been alone, hours before she had to go back to work. He may have felt she was a safer target," Grissom said slowly.
"Any idea how Carrasco links to the other victims?"
"Not yet," he said, tilting his head in confusion as he returned to the photos.
Grissom yawned deeply as he got off the hospital elevator. He'd wasted hours with the sheriff. The man seemed more worried about the media perception that one of his CSIs had been poisoned than with Sara's welfare.
The evidence was still being processed, but at least QD had been able to verify the writing matched what had been found at the crime scenes. The human blood used to write down Sara's address had degraded too much for the immunoassay to establish if it belonged to one of the victims.
Greg was staying late to finish the immunoassays on the blood taken from the boots. As he feared, the dirt had compromised the samples. Some of the enzymes showed a definite match, but not all of them. Greg had taken fresh samples, hoping to find uncontaminated blood.
Walking around the corner, Grissom glanced at his watch. Sara should have had time to finish breakfast, assuming she was well enough to eat. He could visit for a little while, grab a nap, then stop in again before heading back to the office.
He debated what to tell her. She would want to know the killer had targeted her, and he probably should tell her. The thought of being the one to tell her that fact didn't sit well with him. Grissom wanted to cheer her up, not make her upset.
She was probably lonely since she told her parents to stay in California. Her visitors would be restricted to essential medical and law enforcement personnel as long as she was in the hospital. Hopefully she didn't mind that he was the one visiting her.
It was selfish on his part. He wanted to spend time with her, even if he hadn't been able to lift her spirits on his last visit. At the bare minimum, he needed to apologize, to let her know that he was going to do whatever he could to make her happy – even if it broke his heart.
Grissom drew in a sharp breath when he saw the empty chair in front of Sara's door. The police guard was missing. At least one guard should be there at all times. He quickly spun around, scanning in all directions. No police were anywhere in sight.
Moving quickly, he ignored the shocked looks directed his way by the medical staff. Grissom cautiously entered her room. Maybe the guard had stepped inside to take a bathroom break.
Once inside, he was greeted by a member of the food staff collecting Sara's breakfast tray. Giving Grissom a friendly smile, the elderly woman explained an orderly had just taken her upstairs, along with her police escort.
"You go ahead and wait," she told him as she left the room. Instead, Grissom walked to the nurse's station to verify Sara's location. Once learning she'd be back in a few minutes, he returned to her room, taking a seat by the bed.
Placing his elbows on the mattress, he dropped his head into his hands. Why did they take her upstairs? Well, the nurse said she'd be back shortly, so it couldn't be anything serious.
Setting his hands on the mattress to push himself upright, Grissom paused when he felt the warmth. She couldn't have been gone long.
Feeling a bit foolish, he ran his hands along the sheet. What would it have been like to wake up next to her? To smell her scent on the sheets? This is what I rejected.
The shrill ringing caused him to jerk his head upright, groaning as his muscles screamed in protest as he sat back in the chair. Why is there a blanket over my shoulders? Where's Sara?
Looking around in confusion, he saw her smirking at him from one of the room's chairs. Her left arm rested on some pillows stacked on the armrest. The adjustable tray was in front of her, holding another meal.
"Good morning. Well, afternoon," she teased, looking up at the next ring. "Could you hand me that?"
"What? Oh," Grissom said, getting up slowly to grab the bedside phone and walking it over to her. He must have fallen asleep while he waited for her. Why didn't they wake me up?
"Hi … I'm fine, Mom … Yeah."
He discreetly made his way into the bathroom to give her some privacy to talk to her family. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Grissom stole a quick glance at his watch. He must have been asleep for almost four hours.
Guilt washed over him; she had been forced to sit in a chair for all that time because he'd fallen asleep on the only bed in the small room. Great; not only had he failed to cheer her up on his last visit, now he was interfering with her recovery.
After spending a few more moments in the bathroom to allow her to finish the phone conversation, Grissom exited to find her smiling sweetly at him. Huh?
"Go back to sleep," she insisted.
"What? No," he said, shaking his head as he crossed the room. "You need to rest. I'm sorry. Why didn't you wake me up? You shouldn't have stayed in that chair."
"One, I'm sick of being in bed. I probably would have sat over here anyway. Two, you need to sleep, Grissom. You have to be tired. My boss yells at me when I pull stunts like that."
"Like what?" Grissom went back to his old chair, wondering if she really felt he'd been yelling at her. He hadn't been mad; he'd been concerned.
"I'm no fashion queen, but even I noticed that you're wearing the same clothes you had on when you brought me in. And you haven't showered recently, either," she said uneasily.
In all the years she known him, she'd never seen Grissom get like this. It was disconcerting. Sara pushed a covered bowl on the tray towards him. "Here. You probably haven't eaten, either."
"I'm not eating your lunch!"
Sara smiled at his insistent tone, realizing that he was embarrassed. It was touching that he'd been working nonstop to find the killer, but it wasn't safe. Even she took time to change and shower when she was working extra shifts.
"Well, the dietician here seems to think that chicken noodle soup is vegetarian, so I'm not going to touch it."
"Let me go find a nurse to get you something else," he said, shifting his chair closer to Sara. His stomach growled as he lifted the lid.
"Don't bother," she said, pointing to the remains of her meal. A half-eaten bowl each of applesauce and pudding sat next to empty cracker wrappers. "I'm not pushing my luck."
"How are you?" he asked, nodding towards the IV as he started sipping the soup.
"Anemic," she said sarcastically. "You had to be beat if you slept through that scene. I pointed out that if they'd stop sticking needles in me, I wouldn't be losing so much blood."
"I don't think they'll let you out earlier if you annoy them," he teased.
"Worth a shot."
"Is everything else okay? Were you upstairs for tests?"
"No," she said softly, wondering how he'd take the news. "I was visiting Max."
"How is he?"
"Better. He's been drifting in and out of consciousness. The doctor thinks he's going to be fine."
"That's good."
Sara gave him a confused look. While she doubted Grissom was celebrating the fact Max had nearly died, she wasn't expecting such a sincere sounding sentiment from him.
"How did you get in to see him?"
"Max's secretary listed me as a cousin. She told me when she dropped off the flowers," she said. "She said Max would have wanted some sent."
"That's true. He's good about that type of thing," Grissom stated, setting down the empty bowl, realizing he'd never thought about picking her up a present. Forcing a smile, he turned to regard her closely. "Max could probably make you very happy."
Sara stared at him in shock. Did he just say what she thought he said?
"I'm sorry I didn't react better earlier," he said, feeling uncomfortable under her continuing look.
"What's going on?" she asked softly.
"I want you to be happy. It's all that matters right now. I'm not going to interfere with that anymore."
Sara shifted her eyes back to the tray, taking a spoonful of applesauce as a diversion as she debated whether to press for a better answer. Things were confusing enough with a serial killer nearly killing both her and Max. Did she really want to add more confusion by trying to figure out Grissom?
Stealing a glance at him, she felt her resolve melt. His pain was so evident. Any doubts she may have had about his affections had been shattered by this experience. And he seemed ready to talk. Whether it was exhaustion or concern, he was being remarkably open.
"No matter what my decision is?" she asked softly.
"I can't really comment on some unknown guy you might pick in the future," he offered vaguely. While he had acknowledged that he would step aside, it didn't make it any less painful for him.
"And if it's not an unknown guy?"
"Greg?" Grissom asked in confusion. "Well, I guess he has potential. You really could do better."
"I wasn't talking about Greg," she said with a sigh. "I was talking about you."
"What?" he said softly.
"You. You said you wouldn't interfere anymore. You're the only thing that's kept us apart. Are you going to stop interfering?"
Sara watched sadly as he gaped at her. He really didn't trust her. She couldn't understand it, not completely. Grissom had been upset about Hank, but he had been the one to drive her to the paramedic.
"You really don't believe me, do you? You can't believe that I'm serious about this. Why? Have I ever lied to you, ever given you reason to doubt me?"
"Do you keep the newsletters from college?" he asked suddenly.
"What?"
"The alumni news from Harvard. Do you get it?"
"Sure," she said in confusion.
"I don't get mine anymore," Grissom said, getting up to stair out the window.
"Does this relate to my question?"
"It's the answer to it," he sighed. "At first, it was nice. I saw what my friends were doing. And it was nice to see my name in there when I completed my PhD, when I got a promotion or made the news. Then, I started noticing something. Everyone else was listing their personal information."
"People getting married, things like that?" she asked.
"Exactly. Even the biggest losers in my class were in there. The class scumbags even started listing when their kids were being born. I got to list I was published in a journal none of them ever heard about, while they raved about their kids."
"What does this have to do with us?"
"Everyone else had their marriages, their anniversaries, their kids, their grandkids. And all I ever had was my work. I've never even lived with a woman, Sara, and the biggest jerks in my class managed to get married. What does that tell you about me?"
"That you're worrying about something you don't need to. Getting married isn't a sign of success. You should know that. How many bad marriages have you seen in your career? You don't know any of those people are happy."
"But they managed to find someone willing to accept them, at least temporarily. I never could."
"Grissom, I don't care about your past. It's over. You can't change it. I'm only worried about the now, and the future."
"But the past is an indication of future behavior."
"So I know you're not going to run off with the first woman that throws herself at you," she said sarcastically. "Trust me, that's a good thing."
"Sara, this is complicated. Even if we don't consider the fact that I'm your supervisor, there's the age difference. And I've never really let you know me. You might not like what you find."
"Do you think I'm dumb? I know you're older than I am. I can do the math. I know I'll never catch up, either. You're always going to be older than me," she said without rancor.
"And this 'real' you – is he worse than the guy who's never consistent? The one who flirted with me one week and ignored me the next? The guy who pretended I didn't exist for months at a time? Or the guy, who when he finally talks to me, treats me like crap? 'Cause, I fell in love with that guy, God knows why," she said, letting out a disgusted breath.
An uneasy silence feel over the room. Grissom felt his stomach twist at her words. He knew how he treated her, but hearing Sara's pain as she listed off his transgressions had cut through him. The doubt in her voice had been clear. She regretted feeling the way she did.
"Look, I'm sorry. I hurt. I'm tired. I shouldn't have said those things. You didn't deserve that," she said apologetically.
Grissom turned around to watch her carefully. She did seem tired. Was everything okay?
"Do you want me to get a nurse?"
"Nah. I didn't get much sleep last night. Can we talk later?"
"I'll stop by tonight on the way to the lab."
"Don't."
"What?"
"I said don't. You're exhausted. Promise me you'll sleep. I might get out of here tomorrow. You can give me a lift. You still owe me breakfast. Well, it'll be lunch by then."
"Sara," he began, licking his lips nervously. "Will you stay with me?"
"What?" she asked incredulously.
"The killer targeted you. He had pictures of you in his house. I'd feel better if you didn't stay alone."
"Thanks, but no," she said eventually, shivering involuntarily. "I'm not going to let this guy run my life. The police will be watching my place. I won't open the door for strangers. I'll be fine."
Grissom let out a long sigh. He didn't like her answer, but both her posture and tone made it clear she wasn't going to back down.
"Fine. What time should I pick you up?"
"I'll have to call you. If my INR is down low enough, they're going to drain this in the morning," she said, nodding towards her left arm. "Once they're sure it's okay, they'll let me go sometime in the afternoon."
"Call me if you need anything," he said.
"I will," she said, watching as he headed towards the door. "Grissom? I meant what I said earlier. I can't make you trust me, that's something you're going to have to do yourself. It's going to be your decision, whatever happens. But remember, I picked you."
"Right," he said, giving her a smile as he headed towards his empty home.
"Grissom."
"Gil, they found Carrasco."
Despite his exhaustion, Brass's statement got his full attention.
"Where?"
"Outside of Bakersfield. State trooper found his car off of the side of the road. It had been driven down a gully."
"What about Carrasco?"
"He's dead. Single gunshot to the head. Locals are calling it as an apparent suicide."
TBC