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: Sorry for the delay in getting his chapter out, but I was under the weather.Thanks to Ann and Marlou 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 6

Nick found Sara in the Layout Room examining pieces of the faux bomb discovered earlier at the art gallery. Hearing his approach, she looked over her shoulder and gave him a lopsided grin in greeting.

"You okay?" he asked kindly, pulling her off the stool and into a bear hug, unaware of the embarrassed eye roll directed over his shoulder.

"Fine, Nick. Just some broken ribs," she answered with a forced lightness. Stepping out of the hug, she turned back to the table. Her friend's concern was touching, but another humiliating incident in her life had just become public knowledge for the entire lab. As he moved beside her, Sara wished she could go a few hours without a reminder.

"Hey, now, I'm bein' serious."

"So am I," Sara answered, sighing when he gave her a questioning look. "I am. Really. It caught me off guard. That's all. I never expected to see Hank – anyone I knew – like … that."

"No one ever does," he agreed softly, giving her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. I gotta ask: you said Hank wasn't really neat?"

"He wasn't a total slob," she answered quickly, mentally kicking herself for coming to Hank's defense. The custom of not speaking ill of the dead was common. Whether it came from courtesy to those who could no longer defend themselves, or if it was borne of some darker superstition, it didn't help investigators. "But he wasn't a clean freak, either."

"Like you."

Sara gave him a half-smirk as she returned to work on her evidence. "He'd leave stuff lying around. Wasn't like the dishes could walk away on their own."

Nick nodded, scowling as he shifted his weight. "His house was clean. Really clean."

"You shouldn't be telling me this," Sara pointed out, silently pondering the information. Maybe Hank had learned to pick up after himself.

"I can't believe they hauled you in for questioning," he said hotly.

"You think there's enough people here to haul me in?" Sara asked, a true grin forming at Nick's outrage. "I walked in. My own two feet."

"Still not right … Do you know anyone who would have a grudge against Hank?"

"And could get to the murder weapon? Short list, Nicky," she said, giving him a friendly shove with her shoulder when he looked sheepish.

"I guess so, but I don't have to be happy about it. I know what it's like. Everyone wondering if you did it."

"So why are you busting my chops? Go clear me!"

"I'm trying! I'm not the one wasting time treating you like a suspect."

"Come on. I had access to the gun and motive. Of course I'm going to be questioned."

"What motive would you have?" a baffled Nick asked.

"You're not going to make a good knight in shining armor if you don't stay in the loop," Sara said quietly, focusing excessive attention on two pieces of metal stubbornly stuck together. News hadn't traveled as fast as she thought it would.

"Like you need a knight. You'd take a can opener to me. What's going on?"

Deciding it was time to intervene, Grissom entered the room. He'd seen Nick head this way and had followed him, hoping to get an update. Realizing Sara was still in the room, he paused, amazed again at how easily other people could openly offer support.

Of course, Nick and Sara's friendship wasn't strained. Grissom harbored no illusions about the reaction he'd get if he tried pulling Sara into a hug like that in the lab. He'd be lucky if she limited herself to a can opener.

"Sara? What's up?"

"Nick," he said, waving the younger man into the hall. He'd find out soon enough what was going on; there was no need for Sara to have to talk about it again. That was one small thing he could do for her. "What did you find?"

"Not much. That place was spotless. And I used luminol and the ALS. I even pulled back the carpeting. I got some hairs and fibers, but nothing that looked out of place."

"Okay," Grissom said, handing him the file. "Go hook up with Vartan. They're bringing in Elaine Alcott, Peddigrew's girlfriend, for more questions."

With a brief glance back at the Layout Room, Grissom flexed his hands and headed for his office. Eventually, he would need to talk to Sara, but it didn't take a forensic scientist to realize that her bravado with Nick had been forced. This whole ordeal had to be humiliating. In her place, Grissom knew he'd appreciate some space.

Especially from me. I can't believe how badly I misread the situation with Sara and Peddigrew. The cheerleader case – that was right after Gerard told me about them. Why did I listen to him? Sara told me there was nothing going on.

Inside his office, he found a rumpled Catherine sitting in one of his chairs, eyes closed and her head hanging back.

"I hate metal."

"Someone with your magnetic personality?"

"God, Gil, save the comedy for someone good at it," she groaned, opening one eye to give him a dirty look. "I tore the truck apart. I found some grit embedded in the tires. Sent it to Trace. The cab? Clean. Not even hair fibers on the seats."

"That's very clean," Grissom noted. Like every other piece of evidence. Especially for someone who wasn't a 'clean freak'. Lividity showed the body had been moved after death. A pick-up truck would be handy for the job.

"I don't like it. People shed hairs all the time. Last person to use the truck cleaned it afterwards. Hank wasn't prissy. I don't see him vacuuming his truck after every use. My bet – the killer used it to move him."

"And the truck bed is metal," he surmised.

"Yeah. Bloodstains can't sink in. But it can be washed out," she said, sitting up and leaning forward. "I took the back gate off. There are traces of blood in the hinges."

"Like someone rinsed blood out of the bed, but didn't realize it would settle in the gaps between the metal hinges."

"Exactly. Not that it helps much," she sighed. "I sent it to Greg. Even if it matches Peddigrew, doesn't prove anything. He could have cut himself taking something out of the truck."

"Anything else?" Grissom asked as he sank into his chair wearily.

"There's a ding on the back of the cab. Passenger side, above the window. Could be a ricochet from a bullet. Or from a rock. Bugs telling you anything?"

"Nothing definitive. Time of death is between two and five days. Until they finish maturing, I can't narrow it anymore than that."

"You talk to Sara?"

"We finished up about two hours ago."

"Did you talk to her?"

"I think Sara had enough talking for one day," he answered vaguely.

"Gil," she huffed as she stood up. "Look, I know the two of you have this whole non-communicating communication thing going on. It's probably even cute, in some weird, geeky way. But it only works if you're both on the same page."

Grissom gave her a brief look as he went to retrieve the log he was using to measure the bugs' maturation. He froze briefly as she continued.

"At some point, you're going to have to say it to her, Gil. Those three little words. I. Like. You. Let her know you're still a friend."

"Catherine," he warned, going back to his chair.

"It's not hard. I'll even help," she continued, moving to sit on the corner of his desk. "Go home. Stand in front of the mirror. Practice saying it. Once you get it down, you can try it on me."

Grissom glared at her over the top of his glasses. "I'd. Like. You," he said, enunciating each word slowly and deliberately, "to leave. Now."

"Close," she sighed, shaking her head sadly. Sliding off the desk, she patted his shoulder sympathetically. "So close. Practice, Gil. I'm serious. If you can't be friends, there's nothing left for the two of you."

Once Catherine had left, Grissom set his pen down on his desk and rubbed his temples. He was still trying to come to terms with the revelations that came out of the interview. And the realization he'd treated Sara very unfairly.

With a resigned air, he got up and headed back down the hallway. Putting this off wouldn't make things any easier. At the very least, he had to make an effort to clear things between them. Standing in the doorway to the Layout Room, Grissom's eyebrow rose slowly. The empty room didn't bode well.

Ms. Alcott, thank you for coming in," Vartan said professionally, motioning the haggard looking woman towards an empty seat at the table. "This is Nick Stokes. He's with the Crime Lab. We have a few questions for you."

"If you think it will help. Will this take long? Hank's parents are taking this so hard. I don't want to leave them alone any longer than I have to. They don't have any other family in the area."

"This will go quickly if you cooperate."

"Of course I will. But I don't know what I can tell you. No one had a reason to hurt him."

"You told us earlier that you weren't having any troubles with Hank."

"We are ... we didn't," she said, reaching into her bag for a tissue.

"But you didn't mention his infidelities."

"There weren't any infidelities."

Vartan leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "We know that's not true."

"That ended a long time ago," Alcott said coldly. "Hank apologized for his … weakness. We worked through it."

"His weakness?" Nick asked incredulously, speaking for the first time since reading the report Grissom had given him. His anger at Sara's betrayal was vying with his sympathy for Alcott.

"Yes," she sobbed, biting her lip before looking away as she composed herself. "What Hank and I hav … had … was special. I wasn't going to throw it away over one mistake."

"Just one?"

"Yes, detective."

"In my experience, men who cheat once, cheat again."

"Hank wasn't you," she hissed. "I told you. We worked it out. We love each other. Deeply. It wasn't his fault. He was as much a victim as I was."

"What?"

"I know what your co-worker did, Mr. Stokes. She came onto Hank. She seduced him. He faltered. I was hurt. I admit that. But we worked it out."

Behind the one-way mirror, Sara crossed her arms tighter around herself as the insults continued. Logically, she could understand Alcott's anger; she was the one who had been cheated on. But the barbs hurt, even if they weren't true.

Great. The whole lab thinks I'm a drunk. They'll know about Hank. And now they'll think I'm a slut. An evidence-tampering, body-dumping, murdering slut. Damn. Nothing like going out in style.

"Ms. Alcott, please, " Vartan intervened. "I can understand that this is unpleasant for you to discuss, but if we are to catch the person who killed Hank, we have to know the truth. The longer it takes to get to that truth, the more chance there is for the killer to escape. Hank cheated on you once; if there's any chance he did so again, we need to know."

"It was a mistake. It happened once. He was sorry. What he had with that woman was a fling. It was meaningless."

Sara tensed; she could sense his presence even before he spoke. Glancing up, she could see Grissom approach in the reflection off of the glass. Oh, great. Can this day get any worse? The one time I act unprofessionally on the job, I get busted.

"You shouldn't be here," Grissom said softly, standing behind her.

"I won't compromise your case."

"I know that. You shouldn't be listening to that," he said, wincing for Sara as Alcott added 'lying bitch' to the description.

"You'd be surprised what you can learn on this side of the glass," Sara said quietly, closing her eyes briefly when she felt the hand lightly resting on her back. "Might as well know what people will be whispering about in the lab."

"Sometimes, people need someone else to blame. They don't act rationally. People who know you – they won't believe this."

"In my experience, people believe what they want."

Grissom nodded slightly. The comment was said without malice, but he knew it was directed at him. His attention was drawn back to the interrogation room when Nick angrily dropped the folder on the table.

"Ms. Alcott, I am sorry, but what you're saying? It's not true."

"I think I would be in a better position to know that than you."

"I was there the night Sara and Hank met. He was into to her from the start. He came back to the lab that shift to ask her out. I'm sorry, Ms. Alcott, but Hank wasn't lured into this. He started it."

"Right. Your types always stand up for each other. Are we done here, detective? Because I'm not going to listen to you attack Hank anymore. He's the victim here. Try to remember that," she said, pushing her chair back angrily.

Grissom let out a long breath in the observation room. That hadn't gone well. If Peddigrew had a history of cheating, there was no way Alcott would admit to it now. Assuming she even knew about it. He darted his eyes back to Sara as she shifted to face him.

"I didn't kill Hank."

"I know that," Grissom replied.

"Found a way to clear me?"

"I know you. And I believe you."

"Since when?"

There was a time when Grissom thought there was nothing worse than being on the receiving end of Sara's anger, but he was finding her detachment more alarming. Curiosity was the closest thing to emotion in her query. Had she finally decided he wasn't worth the effort?

"Sara, I make my share of mistakes, probably more when dealing with people. I know that. But I do try to learn from those mistakes."

"Good."

Grissom cocked his head as Sara walked out of the room, trying to decipher her comment. It hadn't sounded sarcastic, but she hadn't sounded forgiving, either. Maybe Catherine was right – maybe he needed to be more direct. He'd certainly given Sara enough reason to doubt his friendship. Maybe his actions were as confusing to Sara as her comments were to him.

Rubbing his temple, Grissom moved into the interrogation room, giving Nick a sharp look as he entered. The younger CSI shouldn't have lost his temper, but Grissom knew that if he'd been in the room listening as Alcott had trashed Sara, he would have been hard pressed to remain detached.

"She knows something," Vartan said. "I don't think Sara was an isolated case. 'Your types always stand up for each other.' Who's your type?"

"The other guys Hank worked with had to know he was dating Sara. And they had to know about Alcott."

"Next shift, head down to the station. Talk to the other EMTs," Grissom said. "Was Elaine the last one to see Hank alive?"

"Yeah. They had dinner Friday night. We have a credit card receipt and the waiter remembers them being there."

"And she's not cooperating. Get a warrant for her house and car."

Grissom moved through the house slowly and methodically. He didn't want to miss any potential evidence, but at the same time he wanted to disrupt Alcott's home as little as possible. As much as he was anxious to clear Sara, Grissom knew he had to remain objective. The angry outburst in the interrogation room didn't mean Elaine was guilty, and it would be hard to imagine how she could have gotten the murder weapon.

As he went down a hallway, Grissom paused and sniffed the air. A strong smell of bleach greeted him. Moving cautiously into the bathroom, he followed the odor until he reached the shower stall.

Blocks of tiles on the wall were brand new, the color lot not exactly matching the remaining ceramic. Part of the repaired area would be chest height on a tall man. Quickly snapping photos, Grissom smiled slightly as he began removing the tiles.

TBC