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 5

Time seemed to slow in the interrogation room. Part of her mind registered Vartan's voice as he read her rights, but Sara's concentration was fixed on Grissom. Oblivious to the others, she continued to stare at him, making no attempt to hide the anger and disbelief she was feeling.

Her pain was another story; she kept it buried, not wanting to acknowledge that Grissom still had that power over her. She'd almost lost herself to the pain once. That first sojourn had cost Sara her self-respect. She considered it a small price to pay to have avoided killing someone in her bout of self-destruction.

She couldn't risk it again.

To her surprise, Grissom didn't look away. His eyes were nearly midnight blue with emotion, a fact that was adding to Sara's confusion. He wasn't angry. He wasn't cold. There seemed to be an imploring quality to his gaze, as if he needed something from her.

Brown eyes locked with blue. Sara didn't relent her silent onslaught, even when the pain became evident in Grissom's visage.

"Do you understand?"

Realizing Vartan's question needed an answer, Sara finally broke eye contact. It took an effort not to laugh. She could literally recite the Miranda warning forward and backward. Of course she knew what her rights were. What she didn't understand is why they were being read to her.

Sara set the forgotten coffee cup on the table, symbolically pushing it back to Grissom before crossing her arms over her chest. Whether it was an act of defiance or protection, even she was uncertain. Shifting position, a familiar weight on her hip registered in her brain.

I have my gun.

The thought was comforting. If they were going to charge her with anything, it would have been taken from her immediately. Then what was going on? She turned to Vartan, who seemed equally confused by the turn of events.

Then why did he read me my rights? He doesn't look like he knows. Someone higher up the chain must be in ass-covering mode. Why? What makes this case so special?

And whose ass?

If anything, they had just made their investigation more difficult. It was a quirk in the law, but if she had refused to answer a question, it could have been held against her as probable cause. Not to mention her job would be on the line for impeding an investigation. They'd just given her a legal way out of both situations.

"I understand," Sara said slowly, turning to Brass. When he gave her a wink, she nearly smiled.

"Glad one of us does," Vartan muttered softly before clearing his throat and starting the interrogation. "Have you been in the evidence vault in the past two weeks?"

"Huh? Yeah. Yes, of course," Sara sputtered, surprised by the line of questioning. "It's a normal part of the job."

"At any time did you handle evidence from the Hollandale case?"

"I don't think so. The name isn't familiar. Is that one of my cases?" Sara asked. For every high-profile case a CSI covered, there'd be dozens of minor crimes. It would be impossible to remember all of them.

"No," Brass said softly.

"While in the vault, did you at any time handle any evidence boxes other than ones pertaining to your cases?"

"I … maybe. I don't remember doing it, but I might have moved a box that was in my way."

"You don't recall doing so?"

"No," Sara said, turning back to Brass. Initially, she thought Vartan may have been trying a diversionary tactic – ask about something unrelated in the hopes of surprising her when the questions about Hank started. Seeing Brass' grim expression, she realized the murder and this Hollandale case had to be related.

What kind of connection? Killed by the same weapon would be the obvious, but why ask me if I'd been handling evidence?

Unless we had the gun.

Oh, God.

If someone took a gun from the evidence … Damn. Explains why they're treating this so seriously. It had to be an inside job; no one else could get a gun out of the vault.

I wonder if Hank was screwing around with anyone else in the lab. If not, their list of suspects is going to be really short. Really, really short.

Too damn short.

Sara glanced back at Grissom quizzically. His head moved in the slightest of nods, wordlessly answering her unspoken question. She raised an eyebrow slightly before turning back to the detective.

"About Peddigrew: how did you meet?"

Sara dropped her eyes to the table. By nature, she was a private person. The thought of talking about her ruinous relationship with Hank was disconcerting enough; add Grissom into the equation, and the temptation to remain silent was strong.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head back up. Avoiding this wasn't going to make it go away. "At a crime scene. Rescue found a decomp in a canvas bag. He stayed there until CSI arrived."

"How did you get along?"

"Fine. Great, actually. We were joking around at the scene. Later, he showed up at the lab, wanted to know if I wanted to have dinner sometime."

"That's when you started dating?"

"No," she said, feeling Grissom's stare burning into her. "With our schedules and stuff, we never got around to it. We'd see each other at work and talk. Then, a month or two later, I had a case."

"Yes?" Vartan prompted when she paused.

"It really got to me. I, well, I'm not a real social go-getter. I work. I go home. That's about it. This case was a woman who was a shut-in, who never went out. I guess I related more to her than felt comfortable."

"You don't have to talk about this," Brass said softly when she paused again.

"Yeah, I do. I knew I didn't want to be alone like that. So, I called Hank, asked him if he wanted to have dinner. We met next time we both had off the same shift. But we weren't dating."

"You did date him?" Vartan asked.

"Yeah. Later. It's … complicated. I told Hank I wasn't looking for anything … romantic. He was okay with being friends. We caught movies sometimes, or dinner. Just friends."

"Really?"

"I'd been in Vegas about 18 months at that time," Sara explained, leaning forward. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Grissom shifting to track her motions. He didn't believe her before; was he going to distrust her now? Before, his disbelief had only hurt her personally. Now, it could cast doubt on her innocence.

"Like I said, I'm not good with social stuff. All my friends were connected to work. They're CSIs, techs, cops. Hank wasn't from work, but he knew enough about the job to understand. And his friends liked to go to bars and stuff on their nights off. He went with them, but he said there were times he'd prefer something quieter. It worked for both of us."

"When did you become involved?"

"After a few months. I had a case – another case – that really bothered me. A dead cheerleader, partially eaten by her classmates. You had to have been here to believe the cases we had that year," Sara said, giving the shocked detective a humorless smile.

"I think I'm glad I wasn't."

Sara locked her fingers together on the table, making sure she didn't look at Grissom. She wondered if he'd get the significance of the rest of her story.

"Yeah. Well, I worked that case solo. And when it was done, I felt … I don't know. Alone. Sad. So many lives ruined for a stupid reason. So, I called Hank. I knew he was going to a party that night, but I wanted someone to talk to, even if only a minute.

"I guess he could tell I was upset, because he showed up at my apartment later with beer and a pizza. Said there'd be other parties. I, I couldn't believe he'd done that. It … I wasn't used to someone putting me ahead of their own life.

"I, uh, I ended up in his arms, crying. And he held me. Comforted me. And I started asking myself what was wrong with me. Here's a great guy, and he cares for me. I," she said, taking a steadying breath. "I realized it wasn't like there was any other guy interested in me. So, I asked him if he wanted to be more than friends. He did."

"But things didn't work out?"

"No," Sara said softly, focusing on a freckle on her finger. She didn't want to see their reactions when she told them the truth. That had been the most embarrassing moment of her life – up until she had to face Grissom in the police station. Why does he always see me when I'm at my worst?

"A few months later, Hank was in a restaurant that an elderly woman drove her Jaguar into. He was hurt. But he really seemed to be nervous around me. Turns out the 'friend' he was with at the time was his girlfriend."

"He was cheating on you?"

"No. Technically, he was using me to cheat on her," she said, fighting to keep her voice level. "I figured it out during the course of the investigation. I, I had to go to her house. There was a picture of her and Hank in Hawaii the year before. They'd been together before I met Hank."

At the sound of a quick intact of breath, she blinked several times rapidly, waiting for Grissom to verbally react. When the room remained silent, she risked a look at Brass, who was patting her arm. Being on the receiving end of pity was as bad as Sara imagined it would be.

"Hank came down to the station later. I told him I hadn't told his girlfriend the truth. That was the end of our relationship."

"I imagine you were angry."

"Yeah," Sara said with a dismissive chuckle. "Mainly at myself, for never suspecting. I was embarrassed, hurt. Really hurt."

"You didn't have any contact with him after that?"

"Not unless it was work-related. I had to work with him a couple of times at scenes. Last time was a couple months ago."

"One last question, Sara. Do you know the name of this other woman?"

"Elaine Alcott. She worked for Sillmont Healthcare, lived in Henderson. Don't know if she still does."

"Thanks," Vartan said after a moment's pause. Turning off the tape recorder, he gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. I know this must be hard on you."

Sara nodded as he gathered his notes. She turned to Brass, tilting her head slightly. "Hank was killed by a gun from that Hollandale case." It wasn't a question, and he didn't answer. She knew he wouldn't be able to talk about an open case, but his silence spoke volumes.

When she turned to look at Grissom, he was staring out the door. He can't even look at me. Dammit. No. I'm not going to cry. I'm not letting him get to me anymore. "Uh, excuse me. Be back in a minute," she said, heading to the restroom.

"Damn," Brass groused when she left. "Son-of-a-bitch."

Grissom raised an eyebrow, wondering if the comment had been directed at him. His response was interrupted by the arrival of Cavallo and Atwater, who'd been watching from the observation room.

"You're certain Peddigrew was killed by a gun from the lab?" the lab director asked immediately.

Grissom nodded, taking his glasses off to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I don't get it. Why would someone return the gun? It was risky enough removing it," Atwater asked.

"Jeffery Hollandale spent 14 years on death row for killing his wife and in-laws," Grissom huffed out. "He died of a heart attack two weeks ago."

Atwater shook his head, muttering softly under his breath. Evidence in a capital punishment case would be stored as long as there was a chance of an appeal. Once all court action was finished, the evidence would be disposed of, with personal effects being returned to the family.

Guns were destroyed and the scrap sold.

"When's the next gun crushing?" Cavallo asked quietly.

"Next week."

"Nice trick," Brass said. "If his body hadn't of been found before then, the gun would have been destroyed. Try prosecuting a case where the killer used a weapon that doesn't exist. Even a rookie lawyer could tear that apart in court. Talk about reasonable doubt."

Atwater cleared his throat before looking at Vartan. The detective had a good reputation, but the entire integrity of the lab could hinge on this case. They needed to find out who and how evidence had been tampered with. A more experienced detective would be preferable, but he knew officers were territorial.

"This case is going to be complex," he began diplomatically. "In addition to the murder, there needs to be an investigation on how the gun was removed from the lab. I don't have to tell you it involved someone within the department," the sheriff said as he turned to Brass.

"I'll be glad to help," he offered, knowing what Atwater was aiming to do.

"Good. Yes, you help. I'm sure that's acceptable to all."

"Sure," Vartan replied, giving the captain a smirk. "You take the heat for investigating one of our own. I'll take the credit for solving the case."

"Oh, I can see that happening."

"And I think it would be best if another shift covered this case," Cavallo added.

"No. This is our case. We've already started it," Grissom stated. "Look, Rescue runs a rotating shift. Peddigrew would have worked with every shift in the lab. We have no idea how many people he's had personal involvements with. And there's no way Sara did this."

"You sound certain."

"I am. Sara's the best CSI we have. If she killed someone, we'd never have found the body. She wouldn't have used a weapon that could have been traced back to her in any way. Trust me, if Sara killed someone, we'd never know it."

"Fine, Gil, this case is yours. For now. But do me a favor," Cavallo sighed. "Don't make any comments like that to the press."

Brass chuckled, getting up when Sara passed the sheriff and Cavallo as they left the room. He didn't comment that her eyes were puffy. "You okay, sport?"

"Sure. Am I on suspension?" she asked, turning to face Grissom.

"What? No, of course not, Sara," he said softly, hurt by the accusing look she gave him. "There's no evidence to link you to his murder."

"Fine. I need to get back to my case then."

"Sara, wait," Grissom said, following her out of the room. He caught up to her, resting a hand on her shoulder to stop her. When she turned around, he didn't remove it. He licked his lips before placing his other hand on the opposite shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sara. For everything."

"So am I," she said after a moment, turning to head back to the exit.

TBC