"Gil!"
He sighed and turned to face the blond. "What Catherine?"
"We got a match on that tire tread."
"What tire tread?" He had been trying to make it to his office for the past half hour and had succeeded in only moving about three yards.
"From our latest scene."
He shifted the stack of folders and files in his hands. "I don't recall seeing any tire treads at Aimee Harris' home."
"Not Harris, Robbins."
He followed as she entered the layout room. "Catherine, what are you talking about?"
She stopped dead in her tracks. As she turned, Grissom could see a mixture of confusion and agitation on her face. "Ecklie didn't tell you?" He glared. "Obviously not. Day shift got one of ours a couple of days ago..."
"Then why haven't we been processing it?"
"Because they didn't realize it was our guy. Apparently, no one on day shift watches The Precinct." She seemed to have placated him. "They couldn't reach you for some reason, so they gave it to me."
He sighed again. "What kind of match?"
"Tire impressions indicate that the car is a new Jag, just started coming out last month."
"Compare that against the list we have from the studio."
"Already on it." A pause. "Sara's not here again, is she?"
"Catherine," he said exasperated. "It's still a half hour until shift starts."
"Exactly. She's usually an hour early."
Grissom turned his back attempting to leave the woman behind him. He took one step forward, stopped by the call of his name by someone else.
Spinning around, "Not now, Greg."
He practically ran the rest of the way to his office, closing the door behind him with a slam. Finally, a little serenity, albeit with the mountains of paperwork on his desk that seemed to multiply like rabbits, but a serenity all the same.
He jumped at the movement that came from the corner.
"Sara!"
"Sorry, didn't mean to freak you out."
"What are you doing here?"
"I work here, Grissom," he set the folders on his desk. "Just taking a look at this new display you have here."
He came forward to see what she was talking about. "Oh, that's a Bot fly."
She stepped back quickly. "Aren't those the ones that eat human flesh?" she asked, almost with a worried expression.
He stifled a chuckle. "Only if you get them mad... No, they don't eat flesh," she sighed, relieved. "But they do lay their eggs under the skin of mammals. It's maggots feast on the tissue of the host until it grows and finally falls out and pupates."
She turned to him. "Eww."
They were close, a little too close.
Grissom retreated back to the desk. "So, what did you find out?"
"Well," she moved to the chair in front of the desk where Grissom was perched on the edge. "Quite honestly, not much."
"Nothing suspicious? At all?" Her eyes clouded. "Sara..."
"Not really..."
"Sara..."
"I don't really think that it was suspicious, so much, just out of the ordinary."
"What?" He didn't need her holding back anything.
"After we finished filming, Mitch..."
"Mitch?"
"Hol, the writer."
"Right, the one we met."
"Yeah. Well, he asked me out to dinner."
His face gave nothing away, was a rock. "What did you do?"
"I told him I had to get back to work, that my boss was a bit of a task master."
Grissom's lips turned up as did hers. "What made that out of the ordinary?"
"I don't know. He was just.... creepy."
He nodded. "When does it air."
"Five weeks."
"So what was the plot?"
"Uh...My exboyfriend blew up my apartment."
"He blew it up? Why?" A bemused expression crossed his face momentarily at her short explanation.
"Well..."
"Gil," Catherine slammed the door open as she entered. "We got a... Sara." Cath stopped and stared at Sara. For a moment it seemed as though she didn't know what to do.
"Hey, Cath." She nodded.
"Uh," she turned back to her supervisor and friend, regaining her composure. "I ran the tires through the database. Thirteen of those vehicles registered here in Las Vegas," she tossed the file to him.
"Any of those on our list from the studio?"
"One. A Mr. Vic Hollister."
"Vic Hollister?"
"Star of the show. Plays Detective Mark Genoa."
"Well, looks like we have our first suspect."
A satisfied grin spread across Catherine's face. "Looks like somebody's going to California, and I would like to toss my hat in the ring."
"Actually, Cath," Sara finally spoke up from where she was seated in her chair. "Vic spends his weekends here in Las Vegas, that's why he's got a car out here." She paused, taking in the suspicious look from her coworker. "I overheard people talking... when we were there."
Grissom nodded discreetly.
"Well, you got an address, too?"
"No, Catherine, I don't," a little too much sarcasm. Pulling it back a little, "But I'm sure Brass could hook us up."
"Mr. Hollister, we'd like to thank you for your cooperation in this matter."
"Doesn't really seem like I have much choice."
Sara stared at the man, taking in all six feet two inches of him. He was definitely the Hollywood type- tall, chiseled features, barrel-chested, dark blond hair. If she admitted it, she wouldn't have minded looking at him for a while longer.
Her only interaction with the man had been when she lay on the cold steel of the morgue table. She shuddered as she remembered her thoughts on that day: I wonder if this is how it feels to be dead.
But the director had called cut, and she had returned to the land of the living.
Now she stared at him on the other side of the microscope, she was the one examining him.
As Brass continued questioning Hollister, Sara met Grissom at the car and began to process it for possible traces of evidence.
Working on the driver's side, she dusted, printed, and threw the beam of her flashlight over everything in sight.
Nothing.
She took a step back to gather her bearings.
Clearing her throat, "Grissom, uh..." He popped his head up out of the passenger side. Seemed he was having as much luck as she was. "How tall would you say Mr. Hollister is?"
He cast a glance at the man running his hand through his hair over by Brass. "6' 1", maybe. Give or take an inch."
That was the answer she wanted. Grissom couldn't help but notice the small grin that twitched at the edge of her lips. "Why?"
"Take a look at this seat." He did. "That is way too close for someone who is 6'1", wouldn't you say?"
He took it in, examining each aspect. Slowly he nodded.
Sara turned to face Hollister. "Mr. Hollister, are you the only one who drives this car?"
"Uh, my brother drives it sometimes, I guess." He seemed nervous.
"How tall is he?"
"Um, I don't know. 5'9" maybe. It's been a while since I took the tape measure to him."
She nodded. "Grissom, he was not the last to drive this car."
"Um-hum. So, what does that tell us?"
"Well, Professor, I can conclude then that the person to last touch this car would have had to adjust the seat and mirror."
"Very good, student."
Sara knelt down and examined the underside of the seat. Sure enough, there was the bar that pulled the seat forward. She dusted.
"Got one, nice and clear too."
"Yeah, I think I got a good one from the mirror."
"Looks like we're in business."
They collectively turned their attention to the back seat. After combing the back for evidence and finding only a blue fiber of undetermined origin, they pulled some spray bottles from their kits.
"I love this part," Sara grinned under the goggles.
Their spray was methodical, as was everything else in their line of work. They were sure to cover every last inch of the seat.
"That's not gonna ruin my upholstery is it?"
They ignored him.
Grissom let out a sigh. Nothing... Unless...
"Sara, look here." She did. Just under the overhang of the seat, a bright luminescent blue patch appeared.