Scorned
Summary: Tensions rise when a dead body is found in the desert, and the only evidence suggests one of the team is the murderer. G/S.
A/N: Thanks to Burked and Ann for their beta skills! All mistakes are mine. Potential spoilers through season 4, including the finale.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.

Chapter 4

The evidence clerk tracked down the information on the Hollandale murders in silent confusion. It was rare for investigators to want evidence from long-solved cases. It was even rarer for them to sign the necessary forms while gloved and then to seal the paperwork in an evidence bag.

"Don't open that," Grissom warned as he went to retrieve the boxes himself. In all probability, his precautions were unnecessary. The logical explanation was that a database error had been made.

Every gun left unique markings on the bullet as it passed through the barrel. These patterns of lands and grooves could establish if two bullets had been fired by the same weapon or to verify that a specific gun had fired the bullets.

Records of these patterns from every bullet and gun recovered by the police were recorded in a database. While they tried to be thorough, the sheer volume of firearms used in the commission of crimes in Clark County was staggering. The size of the database was massive, and a data entry mistake had been inevitable.

Still, Grissom wasn't taking any chances. In theory, all evidence was stored in such a manner that tampering was highly improbable. Like all security plans, though, it had one major weakness: it relied on the honesty of the people using it. If this gun had been used to kill Peddigrew, it meant someone in the lab or the police force took it.

Heading back into the Layout Room, he was greeted by a nervous Bobby. Setting his load down, Grissom opened the first box, pulling out the contents one piece at a time. He examined each briefly, looking for any signs of tampering.

When he pulled out the gun, still sealed in its evidence bag, Grissom raised an amused eyebrow at the sheepish looking tech.

They still needed to correct the database entry. For the sake of completeness, they would fire a new round from the gun, allowing no question that the correct information was stored. Reaching into his kit, he pulled out a blade to slit the evidence bag.

His smile disappeared immediately.

"Grissom," Bobby hissed as the distinctive odor reached them.

"Here. Do a visual comparison. Now!" Grissom barked as he shoved the bagged bullets he'd taken from the box earlier into Bobby's hands. Pulling out his phone, he rapidly began leaving pages.

They had a serious problem.

"Your timing sucks, Gil," Catherine said coolly as she entered the Layout Room. "I'm pulling into my own driveway, thinking of a nice breakfast with Linds, when I got your page. This better be good."

She gave the object of her irritation a puzzled look as he closed the door to the lab before taking her arm to lead her across the room, oblivious to her anger.

"Why were you asking if Sara got near the evidence at the scene?" he asked urgently.

"I told you. Defense attorneys."

"I know what you said, Catherine. Now I need to know the truth. Why do you think Sara's impartiality is questionable?"

"I never said that! Look, if you called me back in because you're still in I'm-an-asshole-around-Sara mode, leave me out of it."

Grissom let go of her arm to run his hand through his hair, taking a step away. Turning back to her, he took a deep breath. "Bobby found a match to the bullet Doc found in Peddigrew."

"Okay. And?" she asked, her temper fading slightly as she recognized her friend's discomfort.

"This is probably the gun used to kill Peddigrew," Grissom said shortly, pointing to the bagged pistol. "It's been in our evidence vault for 14 years."

"That doesn't make any sense," Catherine said, donning her own gloves and picking up the bag. Her head snapped up at the familiar petroleum smell. "Solvent? The gun's been cleaned?"

"So it would seem."

"Gil," she began, shaking her head in confusion. The lab never cleaned guns before storing them as evidence. They were bagged exactly as they were after any tests. But this gun had been cleaned, and recently enough that the solvent was still noticeable.

The implication was clear. Someone connected to the lab was involved in the murder.

"You said 'probably'," she pointed out hopefully.

"Bobby's doing a visual comparison of the bullets from this case to ours. Catherine, why were you asking about Sara?" Grissom repeated.

"Come on, Gil! You can't believe Sara had anything to do with this," she said hotly.

Grissom sighed in frustration. He understood that Catherine was trying to be protective, but her evasiveness wasn't helping Sara any. In fact, it was dangerous. The only evidence they had pointed at someone in the lab. If there was any reason to suspect Sara, they needed to act fast to exonerate her.

Will Sara believe that I'm trying to help her? Catherine doesn't get it. Damn. I blew it tonight. Why was I jealous? She broke up with him over a year ago. Sara's never going to give me a chance if I keep this up.

"Of course I don't think Sara's involved. You're right: I was an asshole earlier. Can we please move on?"

Both looked up as Bobby knocked before entering. His expression relayed the results before he spoke. "It's a match. I checked the bullet from your case against every one of the bullets from the old case. Want me to do a test fire?"

"Not yet. The others should be in my office by now. Bring them down in here in about five minutes."

"Right."

Once Bobby left, Grissom closed the door again, leaning against it. Rubbing his hand over his beard, he let out a ragged breath.

"Catherine, at the very least, we have a case of evidence tampering. This whole case is going to become a political hot potato. If there's anything that could call Sara's involvement into question, we have to know. Any sign of a cover-up would ruin her professional reputation."

"Not to mention the lab's," Catherine said softly, pleasantly surprised that Grissom had considered the impact on Sara ahead of work. "Gil, I think it's time you talked to Sara about this. Professionally."

"That doesn't inspire confidence," he said wearily.

"Sorry. What about the evidence? There can't be anything that points to Sara."

"You're right about that," Grissom replied dryly. "There is no evidence. Whoever did this covered their tracks. Like they knew what we'd be looking for."

"Talk about not inspiring confidence," she grumbled, flashing him a brief, knowing smile. There was no way Catherine would believe Sara had killed Peddigrew, but she had to admit that circumstantially, things looked bad.

Things looked even worse for Grissom. He may have been trying to rebuild his bridges with Sara, but his jealous outburst earlier had been enough of a stumble. Having to consider her a potential suspect in a murder would try even a stable friendship.

"You okay? Yeah. Never mind. Dumb question."

"Your bomb case – can it be worked alone?"

"I guess so, but Gil, you're not going to put Sara on leave. Not for this."

"No, but this case has now become our new priority. Warrick went back to the scene, seeing if he can find anything in daylight. Nick's still processing Peddigrew's house. Auto detail is bringing in his truck. I want you to process it. Take the damn thing apart if you have to. There has to be a clue somewhere."

"No problem. Gil," she said, pausing at the doorway to give him a pointed look. "Sara could probably use someone to talk to, personally, later."

Grissom nodded as she made her way to the locker room to change.

But will I be the one she wants to talk to? I never should have let things get so bad with Sara. We used to be close. She'd sit in my office, willing to let me see her cry when a case got to her. Now, she acts like she doesn't want to be in the same room with me.

I really thought I was protecting her. Us. Who am I fooling? I was afraid. I didn't want to get hurt. I kept her away so I wouldn't get hurt. In the process, what did I do to her?

What am I going to do to her now? We have to question her. Something happened between her and this Peddigrew. Something that has Catherine edgy. That can't be good.

Sara's a professional. She'll understand we have to do this.

Will she understand that I'm trying to help?

Grissom pulled out his cell phone again. He couldn't avoid this any longer. Cavallo and Atwater needed to know what was going on.

The assembled techs milled into the Layout Room, alternately grilling Bobby and speculating openly. They usually weren't called into meetings, and those few were scheduled in advance. This was an unexpected occurrence, and they were curious.

Closing the door, Grissom ignored the stares directed his way as he moved behind the table. "This evidence has been tampered with," he said, effectively shocking them into silence.

"How can you tell?" Greg asked.

Grissom stared at him for a moment as he debated how to answer. Discretion was important, but his question hadn't been random. He was training to be a CSI. This was the type of thing he needed to know. Picking up the bag, he held it under the tech's nose, causing him to pull back.

"That's a cleaning agent. We never clean evidentiary weapons. This is from an old case; no one had a reason to even be near this."

Greg darted his eyes nervously before looking at his supervisor. "You were working Hank's murder. Isn't that the same caliber gun that killed him?"

That bombshell shattered the quiet of the room as the other techs rapidly began asking questions. Grissom gave Greg a measured look; it was a nice job of connecting points, but he needed to learn when not to vocalize.

"Hey! Knock it off, everyone. We're working this case," he stated firmly, spreading his hands over the evidence spread on the table. The techs settled down, but all of them noticed Grissom hadn't contradicted Greg.

"Obviously, someone from the lab is involved. Right now, every one of us is a potential suspect. For that reason, no one collects evidence on their own. Ronnie, I bagged the logs. I want it examined for any signs that it was tampered with.

"I want the boxes, evidence bag and gun swabbed for any trace or DNA."

"It's been cleaned," Hodges pointed out.

"Then we'll have to be thorough, won't we? Look for areas that are easy to overlook. Jacqui, we'll print everything, too. Look, I don't have to tell you to be quiet about this. Let's get to work."

Sara was only mildly surprised when she walked into the interrogation room. It was common to question people who knew victims, but she hadn't been in the best shape when Vartan tried to interview her earlier. Seeing the detective, she gave him a brief wave, which he didn't return.

She wasn't too happy Grissom was there, but it was his case now. Talking about Hank would be painful enough. Having him around wouldn't help matters. His encouraging look only confused her.

Lately, that's all Grissom seemed to do. He'd been openly – not to mention publicly –emotionally supportive when she'd been pulled over. He hadn't pushed, but had let her know she could talk to him about anything. He'd even called her while she was on vacation to check up on her.

The phone call had been nondescript, except for the fact that it was from Grissom. The sound of his voice had been soft and gentle, an aural caress almost. There was a time when that kind of response from him would have fired Sara's dreams that they could make things work between them.

Reality had killed that fantasy.

Even if she hadn't overheard Grissom's statement to Dr. Lurie, his actions had made it clear: he didn't want a relationship, at least not a romantic one. Sara couldn't shake the feeling his concern had been driven by a feeling of guilt. As much as she wished that he cared, she wasn't going to set herself up for that type of heartbreak again.

Grissom had asked how she was feeling, if she needed any more time off, if she was enjoying her vacation. She'd answered politely, if not completely. Grissom hadn't pushed and ended the conversation after a short time. She hadn't been avoiding him; the truth was, she wasn't sure how she was doing.

When she first arrived, she tried to act as if things were fine. But her parents, the same people who never worried about anything, quietly mentioned Uncle Marty could fit her in. Marty wasn't really an uncle, but he was a psychologist. It was bad enough they could see through her pretenses, but the fact that Marty specialized in treating depression in the terminally ill really hadn't helped her mood.

Later, she'd met up with friends from the San Francisco Crime Lab. Over a raucous lunch, they'd all teased her for "not forgetting the little people" now that she'd made it to the big time. All through the meal, she secretly hoped they would mention there was an opening at the lab. Afterwards, she was relieved when the job offer never came.

When she got back to Vegas, Grissom had been friendly. Nothing was mentioned of her drinking incident, even in the lab. Finally, she'd gotten Greg to confide that Grissom had dubbed the subject verboten.

The little touches had started Sara wondering if Grissom was actually making an overture.

Then, he'd been a total jerk at the crime scene when he learned who the victim was. A few hours later, he was back to supportive. To say he was confusing would be like calling a glacier an ice cube.

What really surprised her was Brass. It wasn't normal to have two detectives on one case. She nearly laughed when realization hit her; Brass typically acted as a representative when someone in the department was questioned.

"You here to spring me?" she asked in a mock-whisper. He smiled wanly as he took a seat next to her, prompting her to give him a questioning look.

"Here you go," Grissom said, sliding her a cup of coffee as he took a seat opposite her at the table.

"Thanks," Sara said sipping it slowly. This wasn't the normal swill they had laying around. He'd stopped somewhere to get the good stuff. It even had cream and extra sugar, the way she liked it.

Looking up at him, she noticed the concern in his expression. Vartan was concentrating on the notepad sitting in front of him on the table, avoiding looking her in the eye. Brass attempted a reassuring smile, but she could tell he was resigned.

Sara began to wonder if this was the equivalent of her last meal and cigarette.

Any amusement she may have felt died the moment she heard the tape recorder starting. Vartan cleared his throat before stating the time, date, those present and the case they were working.

This wasn't a routine questioning.

The room took on a surreal atmosphere when Vartan began to read her Miranda rights, still avoiding her eyes. Brass leaned towards her to whisper something about a lawyer. She quietly shook her head, turning to glare at Grissom accusingly.

Why was he doing this?

TBC