Vic Hollister's head lifted from the table, his eyes drilling a hole into Sara's.

"For the umpteenth time, I have no idea what you are talking about," he growled. The soft gray of the interrogation room cast shadows on the man's face giving him an almost demonic air.

"You don't how Vikki Robbins' blood got on your back seat?" They were Brass' words, but Hollister kept his eyes on Sara.

"No."

"Mr. Hollister, you'll have to forgive me here, I'm finding it difficult to understand," Brass commented with his typical caustic charm. "Your tire tracks are found at Vikki Robbins' murder scene, her blood is on your backseat, and you have no idea how either of them got there?" He placed his hands on the cold table and leaned forward, breathing into Hollister's face. "No idea?"

The man's eyes finally shifted from Sara to Brass. In a fiery tone, whispered "No."

"Mr. Hollister," Grissom finally stepped forward from the corner where his gray jacket blended in nicely with his surroundings. "You said you weren't the only one who drives that car. You said your brother did."

"He might have, once or twice, I guess. I mean, when I'm not home, he probably takes it for a joyride or something."

"Mr. Hollister, where is your brother?" Nothing. Grissom glanced at Sara. "Where is he?"

"You know, Vic, it might make it a whole lot easier for you if you just told us where he is," Brass breathed in his ear.

Turning sharply to the detective, "You really think I'm going to tell you? Far be it from me to do your job." His voice was now rising. "Look, I am here because you asked me to help. Of my own volition." He stood. "If you have any more questions, call my lawyer."

The door sounded with a resounding slam as Vic Hollister's retreating form floated down the hallway.

"That was... useful." Sara slipped into the seat recently vacated by the star. "What do we do now? How do we find the brother?"

"Jim?"

"I knew that was going to be a question, so before I came, I ran a check on our Mr. Hollister."

"Find anything?"

"The earliest listing of Victor Hollister is seven years ago."

"He changed his name."

Grissom nodded. "Not uncommon for those in Hollywood."

Brass pursed his lips. "Nope."

Grissom was thoughtful for a moment. "Jim, you think you can get Hadley to issue a warrant for this guy's house?"

"Judge Hadley? Uh... yeah, probably. Blood and tire tracks should be enough for just about any judge."

"Ok. Sara, once Jim gets the warrant, you go search Hollister's place."

"Looking for..."

"Anything. Anything that will connect him to any of these crimes. Or anything that will enlighten us about his past or even his brother."

"What are you going to do?"

"I, uh, got some loose ends I need to tie up here."

"I remember the joys of administration."

"Shut up, Jim. Just go get the warrant."

A sad smile crossed Grissom's face as the two left the room.

Grissom rocked back in his chair, tilting his chin up and closing his eyes. He stifled a yawn as his attention returned to the paper gripped between his right thumb and index finger.

He was shaking.

He let go and watched as the paper made its slow, graceful decent to the desk.

All it would take was his signature. Just a few little letters and all this would be over. He tried to remember coming to work in Las Vegas; he couldn't. It seemed like he'd been here forever.

What he'd do if he signed, he had no idea. At least not yet.

He could teach. He'd gotten plenty of offers over the years, but nothing appealed to him as much as a crime lab. He could transfer, but what good would that do?

He mulled over his reasons in his head, mentally checking each item off the list.

No time to relax.

Too hectic.

I'm getting too old for this.

Better to retire when I'm in my prime.

The last few years and cases had taken their toll on Grissom, but no matter how many times he reviewed his list, thought of the many reasons he had to leave, he kept coming back to one unmistakable fact: I love what I do.

He cupped his face with his hands. Was it time to move on? Was he losing his touch?

Grissom was brought out of his reverie by the shrill ringing of his cell.

He looked around, desperately trying to locate the small device. He finally found it beneath a pile of case files.

"Grissom."

"Hey, it's me."

He smiled at the familiar tone.

"You find something?"

"Ye....I...ing...speci.... book...ouse..."

"Sara. Sara! I can't hear you." He rose from his seat and walked across the office.

"Can... rissom...here...tinking...full."

"Wait. Hang on a minute." He kept the phone to his ear and marched out of the room ignoring the glances of passersby at the odd tilt of his head.

"Vic...igan..."

"Sara, I can't hear you." He looked at the bars on the phones display. Two. He held it up a little higher and succeeded in establishing another reception bar. "Sara?"

"I...wait...got...sising..."

Returning to his office defeated, he had another idea. He pulled the chair nearest to him over and deftly hopped on.

"So what do you think?"

"Sara, I did not hear a single word of what you just said."

"What?" she sounded deflated.

"Poor reception."

"Oh. Well, to make it short, I was looking through his stuff and I think I found something."

"Really?"

"Yeah," her voice was regaining the original enthusiasm. "After I didn't see anything in any of his papers, I decided to go through the bookshelves, right, and I found some yearbooks. Saline High School in Saline, Michigan. Anyway, I took them out and started looking. Guess what I found?"

"I bet it wasn't Vic Hollister."

"You'd win that bet. But I did find one Robert Victor Hol, who bears a remarkable resemblance to Vic Hollister."

"Hol? As in H-O-L, Hol? As in Mitch Hol?"

"Yeah, that's the surprising part. His picture just happened to be right next to our Robert."

"Looks like you found our missing brother. Good job, Sara." He could almost hear her beaming from the other side of the phone.

"First of all Mr. Hol, we want to thank you for coming in and answering some questions for us."

"Anything to help catch the killer."

"Just as a reminder, this is just an informal interview, there is no need for an attorney." Brass gestured to the woman at Hol's side.

"She's just here for moral support." Brass nodded.

"When was the last time you drove your brother's car?"

"You mean the Jag? Oh, I don't know, a week ago, maybe." Sara's eyes squinted. There was something different in this Mitch Hol than the one she had met in LA. He was confidant, overly so. Almost condescending in his answers.

"Do you know how some blood got onto the back seat?"

He shifted in his chair but his face was stone. "Maybe I cut myself." Grissom noticed he unconsciously folded his hands together at that remark.

"That's the thing, Mr. Hol. It wasn't your blood." There was just the slightest flicker of, dare she say, panic in the man's eyes. "It was Vikki Robbins' blood."

"Vikki who?" Composure completely regained.

"Robbins. The Prime Time Killer's latest victim."

"Oh, right, the one that was found dead at the dump."

"Quite similar to one of your plots on The Precinct, wouldn't you say?" Grissom's eyes narrowed as he asked.

"Are you implying that I had something to do with this?"

"Gentlemen, you cannot formally accuse my client of anything right now."

"Oh, we're not. We're just asking him some questions."

"No, you were asking him questions." She stood, taking her briefcase from the tabletop. "Come Mr. Hol, there's no need for you to be harassed here. Detective," she said handing Brass a small business card. "Call me when you have some real evidence."

"Great!" Sara's hand pounded into the table as soon as the two had left.

Grissom removed his glasses and began to rub the bridge of his nose furiously. "We're missing something here."

"What Griss? What are we missing? There's no more evidence at any of the scenes. We've all been over those a million times."

"I know, Sara. Trust me, I know."

"So what do we do now?" It frustrated her that she had been asking that question so often lately.

Grissom was thinking, she could see the clock wheels turning behind his eyes.

"You go home."

"What?"

"Go home, Sara. You're running yourself ragged over this case."

"We've got to catch..."

"Sara, you're no good in this state of mind. You need rest. Go get some. It's your day off anyway. Shift ended four hours ago."

"If you think I'm actually going to..." She was stopped by the wary glance Grissom cast over his shoulder at Brass.

"Um, I uh... think I'm gonna go. Now. Uh... bye." Followed shortly by the soft click of the door.

Quietly, "Your episode comes on tonight."

Episode. Her episode.

Grissom sighed as her face fell.

"They are never going to let me live this one down." Her head slowly fell to rest in her cupped hands.

"Trust me, I will keep the rest of the night shift so busy, they will have no idea what day it is, much less who guest starred on a certain show."

She looked up and sighed.

"Ok... Fine, I'll go home. But I'll be back in tomorrow night."

"Don't you mean tomorrow afternoon?"

A smile crept over her sleep haggard features. "You know me too well."

"Go get some sleep. Please."

"I will."

With a defeated gait, she exited the room.

The lab was not as quiet during the day as it was at night. That was one realization that hit Grissom between the eyes every time he was there while the sun was still up.

He had come back after the failed interview with Hol to think, to clear his mind, and if he got around to it, clear his desk.

He didn't know how long he had sat staring at nothing in particular, when a sweeping glance at his cluttered desk notified him that the paper he had been struggling with earlier was still there.

He sighed.

Tri-folding it and placing it in an envelope, he shoved to the back of his desk drawer.