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 Marlou for their beta skills. All mistakes are mine. Potential spoilers through season 4, including the finale. And thanks to all who have responded to this story - your feedback has been incredible and appreciated.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.

Chapter 15

Grissom made his way through the university hallway quickly, double-checking the room numbers against the sheet of paper in his hand. He paused briefly to yawn and to take a long sip of water from a nearby fountain, mentally willing his exhaustion away. It didn't work.

After leaving Sara's apartment, he had returned to work, even though he'd slept little since the case broke. Too much was at stake. Clearing Sara was his personal priority, but that didn't interfere with his drive to solve the murder.

The reputation of the lab was also endangered. Evidence had been tampered with, taken from the vault to be used in a murder. If they didn't explain how that happened, all the evidence they'd meticulously collected would be suspect. The reputation he had worked so hard to establish for the lab would be gone.

And then there were his personal motivations.

A shadow of a wistful smile crossed his lips. Sara was adamant in her refusal to let him get close while she was still a suspect, not willing to let him risk his own job by association. Grissom found her protective actions discomforting at first, then he realized why. He'd essentially done the same thing. One of the reasons he gave himself for avoiding a relationship was ostensibly to protect her.

The irony wasn't lost on him.

I wonder if Sara had any idea how prophetic her warning was that day I turned down her dinner invitation. I've finally figured out what I want – no, I always knew what I wanted; I was never ready to act on it, to face that commitment. Now I'm ready, and she's the one not willing to take a risk.

Of course, there's a difference. I tried to convince myself I was motivated by Sara's welfare, when I was acting in my own self-interest. Her fears are a lot more realistic than mine. There probably would be a political hell to pay if I got involved with a 'potential murder suspect', and God knows I'm not politically savvy enough to gloss over it.

And as much as it hurts to admit it, I can't promise Sara what I'd do in that situation. I know how I want to react, but that doesn't mean I would react that way.

It's so unfair; anyone who knows Sara would never believe she's a murderer. But how can I prove it?

Follow the evidence – it never lies.

After stretching slowly, Grissom resumed his trek. So far, they'd focused on the two most probable killers: Sara and Alcott. He knew Sara wasn't involved, and Alcott could explain away all the circumstantial evidence pointing her way. Personally, he felt Alcott's alibis were too well constructed, but without any evidence to prove she was lying, he couldn't show it was staged.

One thing he did know was that whoever killed Peddigrew went through a lot of trouble to cast suspicion on Sara. But Brass was right – that theory only worked if the rock hunters found the corpse on the way to the mine. That required knowledge about their habits, and Grissom was heading to the top of that proverbial hill for answers.

Finding the right door, he knocked lightly before entering the rambling collections room. "Dr. Fischer?"

"Go away! Office hours are posted on the door!" an annoyed voice called out. A head popped up from behind one of the numerous geological displays lining the tables when Grissom continued into the room. "Wait, I know you! You're the forensics guy. I talked to you after we found that poor man."

"Gil Grissom," he supplied, setting his briefcase on one of the tables. "I have some questions."

"Oh, good! I was waiting for someone to interrogate me," the professor said in an excited voice. Rubbing his hands in anticipation, he jumped on a stool and smiled.

Grissom kept his annoyance in check as he took the other seat. In his experience, overly eager witnesses were often less helpful than reluctant ones. They tended to jump to conclusions in their exuberance, or exaggerated things to play up their involvement. It was human nature, but it made his job harder.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you about your club's field trips," Grissom said, watching Fischer's enthusiasm wane.

"Oh, is that all? They're listed on our web site. Ones that are open to the public are listed with 'open to the public' highlighted. Information on joining the club can be found there as well," he droned as he picked up a catalog.

"Anyone could find out about any of your outings?"

His eyes narrowing, Fischer stared at Grissom. A sly smile formed as he rested his forearms on the table. "You mean like the trip to the Grier Mine?"

"That's a good example."

"No. That trip is invitation-only, due to the physical demands of it. You wouldn't believe the number of people that want to go on these trips, but that aren't in shape to make it. You try telling someone they're too fat to fit in a cave entrance. Or pulling them out once they get stuck. Not fun," he said insensitively.

"So, your visit that day to the mine wouldn't have been common knowledge?"

Fischer leaned back, buffing his fingernails mischievously against his shirt. "Oh, that's not something I would say."

Grissom didn't try to hide his growing irritation. This case was too important for him to be playing games with a grandiose professor. "What would you say then?"

The geologist cleared his throat apologetically. "Err, yes. The Grier Mine Expedition is a bit of a prize, you could say. Even without listing it, we get a lot of requests to attend. It's always held twice a year, same dates each year."

"How many people would you say know about it?"

"Hundreds. At least," Fischer said after a moment. "We've used samples found there in some of the intro class lectures for years. That's a fair number of students. The club's membership is open to anyone in the area. People drift in and out, but at any given time there's a few dozen people outside of the university. A couple of years ago, the school paper even did a story on our trip."

Grissom rubbed the back of his neck, the tip of his tongue making a brief appearance as he processed the information. While not exactly common knowledge, the rock hounds' movements were predictable. The killer could have used that to ensure Peddigrew's body was found.

"One last question, Professor," Grissom said, reaching over for his briefcase. He extracted a sample jar containing some of the gravel found in Peddigrew's truck tires. They suspected that the truck had been used to transport the body, but they couldn't conclusively prove it. He hoped the professor could provide some information on where it had been.

"Can you tell me anything about this?" he asked, handing over the gravel and the accompanying Trace report. "Limonite, copper carbonate, a few other minerals."

Fischer glanced at the jar before scanning the report. Getting up, he quickly pulled a three-ring binder from a shelf. After leafing through the pages for a minute, the professor turned to Grissom and grinned excitedly. "I thought so. What do you want to know besides the fact it was found beside that dead man?"

Entering the interrogation room, Vartan glared contemptuously at the cowering evidence vault clerk. "Well, you're looking pretty fit for a sick guy. How are the healing powers at the fishing camp?"

"What's the big deal? I used up all my vacation time. I called in sick so I could take a break. That's no crime. I should call my lawyer. You can't arrest me for that."

The detective took a seat opposite Saunders. "First off, you aren't under arrest. Yet. You can have an attorney if you think you need one."

"What's going on?" Saunders asked, squirming nervously in his chair.

"Oh, I think you know, Chuckie. Sixteen years on the job, and you toss it all away for a check."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You think we don't know about the check from Silmont?" the detective asked.

"There's nothing wrong with that. That was from my brother's accident!"

"Your brother killed himself, Chuck. It wasn't an accident. Silmont had no reason to pay you. That's why a judge threw out your case when you tried to sue," Vartan pointed out coldly.

"My brother didn't kill himself!" Saunders yelled, standing up and pounding the table. "He didn't! You can't say that. It was an accident. We can bury him now, a proper burial. Pop died thinking Brian was damned, but we can fix that now."

Vartan leaned back in his chair, watching as Saunders tried to compose himself. This seemed to be an extremely emotional issue for him; no wonder he was willing to compromise his job. No matter the coroner's ruling, it appeared that the settlement from the insurance company supplied enough evidence of an accident that the church would let his brother be buried in consecrated ground.

"Chuck, we know you took the gun. We know you gave it to Walker," Vartan said calmly as he saw an opening. "That means the insurance check was a fraud. The church won't accept it as evidence of an accident. They still won't let your brother be buried. Unless you cooperate."

"I didn't do anything wrong," Saunders insisted, his eyes watering up with tears. "I didn't!"

"Oh, come on! You know you were tampering with evidence."

"No! Walker said they were doing a study, about how easy it was to get evidence from the lab. Said they'd use it to show the city needed to spring for surveillance cameras in the vault. The sheriff's been trying to get that money for years," Saunders explained.

"You did this for the city?"

"And Brian," he admitted. "That gun wasn't evidence no more. Hollandale was dead. Weren't going to be no more appeals. The gun was going to be trashed anyway. I was helping the lab, and helping my brother."

"You actually believe that," Vartan stated, staring at the clerk incredulously.

"Yes! What's the big deal?"

"Besides the fact the gun was used to murder a paramedic in cold blood?" Vartan asked harshly, letting out a sigh when the stunned clerk broke down into violent sobs.

Grissom eyed Fischer in anticipation. He had hoped to get some useful information, but nothing this dramatic.

This could be the break we need. If the gravel is unique to that region it means the truck was at the dumpsite. We thought it was used to move the body; this could prove it.

And Alcott was the last person to see Peddigrew – and he was in his truck. It's still circumstantial, but we're showing a progression. It might be enough for a conviction.

If Fischer isn't exaggerating. He's too eager.

"What makes you certain of that?" Grissom asked cautiously.

Fischer grabbed a plastic squeeze bottle from under a table, holding it up questioningly. "Distilled water. May I?'

"Of course," Grissom answered, getting off his stool to move closer. They'd already run all of their tests on the rocks. "You can do anything you want on those samples. We have more at the lab."

Fischer dumped a piece of the stone on the workbench and squirted it with water. The dull rock immediately sparkled a brilliant green and black. "It's malachite. See these inclusions?" he asked, pointing to a brown spot marring the surface and then to the corresponding spikes on the Trace report.

After Grissom nodded, the geologist walked to another table, pulling out a large topographical map and returning. "Those impurities are specific to a particular vein of malachite. It runs along here," he said, marking a section of the map. "We have people getting excited by it all the time. You can find big hunks of it, but," he said, picking up the stone and easily breaking it at the flawed spot, "it is exceptionally poor quality."

"And it's only found in this region?" Grissom asked. "No other veins have those same flaws?"

"Natively, yes, it's unique to that vein. But like I just showed, it breaks easily. The temperature extremes, geological activity, lizards crawling over it, all cause small pieces to flake off. When it rains, the flashfloods wash them down the gullies," Fischer explained, drawing a line down a depression on the map. At one point, he made a big circle and grinned. "And that's where your dead body was found. That gravel came from the same ravine."

Taking a seat in the office, Brass resisted the urge to check for bats. Every flat surface contained a multitude of rocks, giving the huge office an additional cavernous feel. The pale-skinned man opposite him even looked like he hadn't seen sunlight in ages.

"Herb Newman," the older gentleman said, shaking hands with Brass in a friendly manner. “You're here about Elaine, aren't you? This is terrible. I can't believe you're harassing her like this."

"We're investigating the death of her boyfriend. She's the last one to see him alive. It's a routine investigation."

"Hmmph," Newman huffed out. "Well, you're certainly wrong to think Elaine was involved in any way."

"You sound awfully certain about that."

"I am! When we first moved Elaine to the management track, she was offered a great job in our Reno offices. It would have been a major promotion for her, lots of prestige, huge raise."

"And she turned it down?"

"Yes," Newman said, nodding as he rested his hands on his belly. "She said that she wanted to stay in the Vegas area to be with Hank. He was looking out after his parents, and he wasn't willing to move. She gladly put her career on hold to be with him. I tell you, Detective, she loved him."

"People change their minds. He cheated on her once."

"What?" Newman sputtered in surprise.

"It's not the type of thing people like to brag about, but, yeah. You can see where that can put a damper on a relationship. So, she gave you no clue that maybe he was, you know, straying from the home pasture."

"No. No! Nothing at all. I find that so hard to believe."

Brass shrugged in a worldly manner. "So, Elaine ended up in insurance investigations?"

"Yes. She went through a routine rotation, to get experience in our different operations. She liked investigations, asked to be assigned there permanently."

"When was that?"

"I guess about seven months ago."

"Interesting," Brass muttered to himself. That was about the same time she discovered the box of mementos of Sara in Peddigrew's locker. "So, in her job, would she have access to waivers? Say for the mines."

"Not normally. Our parent company handles liability. They usually handle their own investigations."

"Would she be able to find out about them?"

"Well, everything is kept in a central database."

"And you wouldn't mind checking to see what records she accessed, would you?"

"Without a warrant, yes I would," Newman said, suddenly very serious. "We protect the confidentiality of our clients. Anyway, it wouldn't mean anything. We have our trainees pick out claims and policies at random to examine for discrepancies."

Brass nodded, taking the time to check out the various items in the office. "I take it you're a bit of a rock hound yourself."

"You think?" Newman laughed boisterously. "Oh, yes, I must admit it is a passion of mine. Well, it was when I was younger. I'm afraid I can't get around very much anymore."

"So, what's the attraction of this Grier Mine?"

"Gold threads," he answered, swiveling his chair around and picking a display from his credenza. He put down several large pieces of clear quartz down, each containing threads of gold embedded in them.

"I'd think you'd smash that for the gold," Bass said.

"Oh, no. This is a rare formation. It's much more valuable than the actual gold."

"So, did you collect those yourself?"

"Years ago. Like I said, I don't get around so well anymore. I haven't been back since they closed off the easy access."

"I didn't know there was an easy access," Brass said naively, smiling slightly when the other man nodded eagerly.

"There's a ravine that runs all the way up to the mine entrance. You could get to it off of the highway, used to be able to drive up with a four-wheel drive vehicle. Back in the late seventies, there was a flashflood. It killed a bunch of kids driving there. After that, they barricaded the entrance to the ravine."

"I guess you talk about this a lot."

"Oh, yes. I'm afraid I bore my employees," Newman admitted unabashedly.

"So Elaine would have known how to get there easily," Brass said, watching as Newman paled. "What road led to the ravine access?"

"I don't remember," he said curtly, getting up and storming to his door. "I believe we're done here, Detective."

"What are you doing here?" Grissom asked urgently, brushing past the milling officers as he half-dashed up the hallway.

"Didn't you get my message?" Sara asked in confusion when he escorted her to a quieter area. "I'm taking a polygraph test. Pretty straightforward."

"I know what you're doing. What I don't understand is why you're doing it."

Sara dropped her head so he wouldn't see her amused grin. His protective streak was still endearing.

After breakfast, she'd mulled over their conversation. His insistence that he would be there for her, no matter the consequences, had been touching. It had even sounded believable. But she'd been burned once too often to trust him so completely.

I hope he understands why I'm wary. I know he wants to get together, but if it really came down to a choice between me or the job, I don't know which of us he'd pick. And I don't want him to ever have to make that kind of decision. It would tear him up. I never want to be the source of that kind of pain to him. I love him too much.

And I don't want to have to try to deal with being the one Grissom didn't pick. That would hurt too much, too deeply. It's bad enough knowing the job's kept us apart this long. To actually let Grissom in, then have him leave … God, even thinking about it is painful.

But Grissom's trying. I have to give him credit for that. I know that's a milestone, and it means so much to me.

Can I do any less?

"Grissom, if I were any other suspect, you wouldn't hesitate over a lie detector test," she replied.

"You aren't any other suspect," he said softly.

Waiting for some officers to walk by, Sara gave him an affectionate look. "Yeah, I am. To the system, anyway."

"But why take the risk? We're still working the case."

"What risk? The way I see it, I don't have anything to lose. It shows that I have nothing to be afraid of. If you can't find conclusive proof to clear me, and I pass the test, it might be enough for me to save my job. If I don't pass, and you don't find the evidence, then I'm not in any worse of a position than I'm in now. And if you do clear me, the result of the test doesn't matter."

Grissom let out a long breath as his hands flexed. As always, her logic was impeccable. Almost. She wasn't considering Alcott's slimy attorney. “If, for some reason, you don't pass, and Lockhart gets a hold of the results, you know he'll use it to trash you," he pointed out sadly.

"If Alcott goes to trial, he'll pull that stunt anyway," she groused. "I know he'll try to say the lab showed me favoritism, didn't investigate me thoroughly. I knew that was a risk no matter who's charged with the murder. That's one of the reasons I volunteered to be searched. I have nothing to hide, and a jury will see that. Let the bastard try. I'm not afraid of him."

Grissom took her arm, moving her to a bench. "Sara, you don't have to do this. We still have leads to follow up on. Don't give him any ammunition to use against you."

"It's only ammunition if I fail. And I have never failed a test in my life," she said jokingly, stretching back against the bench in a leisurely manner.

"I'm serious."

"So am I. Look, you know as well as I do that false positives are rare. And a good polygraph reader can tell when it's due to the subject being nervous. The odds that I'll fail the test are pretty minimal."

"But it's still there," he said. Grissom frowned when her hand rested on his arm. Putting his elbows on his knees, he rubbed his temples sleepily. He knew she was right, but the thought of her facing any more suffering pained him. "I just wish you'd wait for a little while before doing this."

"I have to do something, Grissom. I don't know how to explain it," she sighed, twisting on the bench to face him. "I don't have any … feelings for Hank, not after what he did to me."

He turned to look at her, moved by the emotional turmoil in her eyes. Strangely, he didn't feel any jealousy. This wasn't about any potential remaining affection Sara had for the EMT, but her innate sense of justice. Not to mention her fiery temper.

"It pisses me off that someone tried to make it look like I was involved in Hank's death. And I can't do a damn thing to help solve the case. I won't let his murderer get away without trying something," she said vehemently. "Please, don't try to stop me."

"Who said the murderer was getting away? We have …" Grissom started before pausing quickly, his head tilting to one side in thought.

"So, you have some lead you can't tell me about, or did you stop 'cause you didn't want to get my hopes up?" Sara teased, trying to lighten the mood by nudging his shoulder playfully.

Grissom's eyebrow went up as he shrugged. "I'm doing everything I can," he insisted, turning to look at her imploringly.

"I know. I don't doubt that at all," she said reassuringly.

Grissom dropped his head, his forehead wrinkling deeply. "I don't want you to get hurt anymore. I'll talk to Atwater. I won't let him kick you out of the lab over this. There's nothing that can link you to the murder."

Checking the hallway surreptitiously, Sara slid a bit closer to him on the seat. Grissom looked up, scanning the area quickly before inching towards the middle of the bench himself.

"You know, my reasons for doing this are more than professional," she hinted shyly. "There's a definite personal motivation going on."

"Really?"

She nearly laughed at his surprised expression.

"Oh, yeah," she said, nodding her head.

"Really?" he repeated brightly.

"Yes!" she said, rolling her eyes genially. "Just because I won't let you get caught up in my mess doesn't mean that I don't want to get closer. When this is all over."

"I am serious about us," he breathed, his eyes darkening with emotion.

"Down, boy," she said, softening her rejection with a smile. "I wasn't kidding. I'm not going to let you get hurt."

"To quote Russell: 'Ah, to think how thin the veil that lies/Between the pain of hell and Paradise.'"

Blushing, Sara dropped her head, giving him a smirk when she looked up. "Don't build your expectations too high."

"I doubt that I am."

"Right. No pressure there."

Grissom smiled, moving away reluctantly when he noticed the polygraph operator coming around the corner. Sara mimicked his action after giving his hand a quick squeeze.

"Do you want me to be in there with you?" he asked tenderly.

"Hell, no!"

He blinked as his jaw dropped. Sara's wide grin was the only thing keeping him from panicking. Seeing his look, she briefly stuck her tongue out before getting up to follow the operator.

When she rolled her shoulders and took a deep breath, Grissom realized that she was trying to relax. Excessive stress could negatively affect her results on the lie detector test, and he decided to play along.

"What? You think I'll cause you to react if I'm in there?" he challenged in mock-indignation.

With a quick look over her shoulder, Sara grinned salaciously and answered quietly. "Grissom, I always have a physical reaction around you."

Walking into the room, she laughed at his thunderstruck expression.

TBC