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.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.
Chapter 16
A still partially stunned Grissom moved down the hallway, pausing briefly to cast a bewildered look in the direction Sara had left. A small smile emerged as her parting words finally registered. With a brief headshake, he continued down the hall.
Sara actually said what I thought she said. Well, she was trying to get a reaction out of me, and it must have been comical looking. It helped her relax, so I don't care. What's important is that she is willing to give me a chance.
I have to admit I was having my doubts. I know she's trying to protect me from any repercussions, but I wonder how much of her motivation was self-protection. She doesn't want to get hurt. If things did get bad, she's certain I'd pick the job over her.
Given the fact that work has always been my first priority, I can understand why she feels that way. Hell, even I can't guarantee how I'd react in that situation. That doesn't say much about me, does it?
Hopefully, it'll be a moot point – the polygraph test could settle everything. She's right; there's probably no reason to worry about the results. False positives are very rare.
But what if this turns out to be one of those cases? Sara was serious about not letting me get caught in this. If she doesn't pass, or if it's inconclusive, I don't think she'll allow me to get any closer. Then what?
I don't know.
Is that a bad sign? I know I love Sara. There's no question in my mind about that. But is it normal to have doubts like this? I can quote the Bard, the Romantics, Eastern philosophers, but saying the words isn't the same as living the emotions behind them. I am in new territory here. What kind of journey is this going to be?
Lost in thought, Grissom entered another interrogation room, where he found Brass waiting with a well-dressed, dark-skinned man.
"Ah, there you are. Now we can begin," Brass said brightly. "This is Gil Grissom from the Crime Lab."
"Nice to meet you," the stranger stated brusquely. "No offense, gentlemen, but my schedule for the day is very busy. I'm more than willing to help the police, but if we could hurry along."
Brass gave him an insincere nod. "Of course. This is Tyrone Walker. He approved the payment of one hundred thousand dollars to Chuck Saunders. And in exchange, he gave you a handgun."
"Really?" Walker chuckled. "You know, I think I would have remembered that last part. Why would he do a thing like that?"
Grissom frowned when Brass looked at him curiously, irked that his concentration had momentarily wandered. Normally whenever something troubled him he focused on work as an escape. Now, work was his trouble, at least this case. The consequences ran dangerously high, both for the lab and for Sara. It was a level of personal impact that he was unaccustomed to having from work, and when coupled with his exhaustion, it affected his ability to focus.
Despite Grissom's best efforts, his thoughts drifted back to Sara. He worried about her interrogation, and what that meant for her future. He wondered about her admission, and what that meant for their future.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he forced his mind back to work. He could dwell on those thoughts later. The priority now was the case. Had Walker's laugh been nervous? The man was a trained insurance investigator. He would know all the body language clues indicating that someone was lying, and he would be at an advantage in trying to suppress them.
With a minute shrug, Brass' gaze went back to Walker. "For the money," he answered.
"Fine. Then why would I do it?" Walker replied, laughing again, unaware of the scrutiny with which Grissom observed him.
"Well, Saunders confessed that you told him you wanted the gun for a study showing that the lab needed to install security cameras in the evidence vault," the detective answered.
"That's nonsense. Why would Silmont care about your lab? We don't do any types of studies like that," he said dismissively.
"Oh, I know that. You really did it so you could get the gun."
"Why? I can get a gun anywhere."
"But not one that can be linked back to the lab."
"Captain, I wish you had told me to bring my tinfoil hat. That is the proper attire when you're talking about wild conspiracies, isn't it?" Walker sneered contemptuously.
Brass smiled humorlessly. "Funny you should mention conspiracies. I was just thinking that myself. Conspiracy to commit murder, for example."
Grissom rested his head on his palm, his eyes narrowing. Walker had an outward appearance of calm, but a facial tic was developing.
"This is insane," Walker said with a forced eye roll, but unable to control the slight waver in his voice.
"I think your supervisor might agree," Grissom said, turning to face insurance investigator head on. "Brian Saunders committed suicide. There was no question about that. You approved a payout for a case with no justification."
Walker's demeanor hardened for the first time. "Ever since that Lambert case, the State Insurance Commission has been riding our asses," he said angrily. "We didn't break any laws, but they are trying to hold us responsible for that crazy, old bat killing those people in her suicide crash."
"Your compassion is amazing," Brass intoned dryly. "And your company was killing her."
Walked ignored him.
"Every claim we deny, every case we review, the commission comes breathing down our necks. Our legal fees are through the roof. We're paying out settlements that aren't warranted just to get them off of our backs. No one in my department has gotten a bonus in over a year."
"That must be rough on the finances. And you're a member at Silver Estates," Grissom said, pointing out the insurance investigator's tiepin. "That's a very expensive club."
"It's easy to see why you'd be willing to help Alcott," Brass added. "No one would notice if you slipped in another questionable claim, and she pays you off."
Walker swallowed nervously, a thin line of sweat breaking out along his hairline. Closing his eyes for a moment, he took a deep breath before standing up. "Detective, when you first came to me, I gave you my financial information. I know you didn't find any traces of the bribes you're implying I took."
"Of course not. You wouldn't be dumb enough to leave the money where it could easily be found."
"We're done here," Walker stated. "Unless you're planning on arresting me. And if you do that, I can guarantee I'll sue for false imprisonment. If you had anything, you'd have arrested me already."
"So, it's all a coincidence that Saunders says he gave the gun to you, you work with Alcott, and her boyfriend gets murdered?" Grissom asked levelly as Walker headed for the door.
"Maybe not, but I think you're looking in the wrong direction," the investigator said before exiting. "Saunders confessed. You should check his file. He blamed the paramedics for his brother's death. He sued them, and he was furious when the case was kicked out of court. That's the man you should be checking out."
Grissom turned to Brass, but the detective held up a hand and shook his head.
"Don't worry. Vartan already checked it out. Saunders didn't sue the local guys. It was a volunteer group out by Pahrump. And he found witnesses that Saunders worked the entire shift the night Peddigrew was murdered. The man may be terminally stupid, but he's not our killer."
Letting out a relieved breath, Grissom rubbed his temple thoughtfully. The case was already complicated enough without that new twist. But they were making progress. Slowly, the pieces were falling in place. "I can place Peddigrew's truck at the dumpsite," Grissom said, recalling the details of his earlier conversation with the geologist.
Brass smirked happily. "I can do you one better - I know how the truck got into the ravine. Almost," he corrected.
"What do you mean?" Grissom asked eagerly.
"Alcott's boss has rocks on the brain. He told me that there used to be a way to access the ravine from the road. He shut up when I asked what road."
"Would Alcott know this?"
"Boss admitted that he talks about stuff like that all the time. I have Nick and Warrick trying to figure out where the access point is. The ravine breaks into a couple of channels south of the dumpsite."
Grissom nodded as his eyes wandered in the direction of the other interrogation room. He hoped things there were equally optimistic. The thought of Sara carrying the stigma of being a murder suspect pained him; he could only imagine how it felt to her.
What will she do if the sheriff doesn't think there's enough evidence to clear her? She couldn't work here. None of the major labs would want to hire someone with a questionable past, even with her experience. Maybe one of the smaller departments would take her, but would Sara be happy in a place like that?
Would I?
Even if she was willing to accept me, could I leave everything behind? Sara might be right. If we became involved under those circumstances, my reputation could be questioned. People do draw conclusions on partial evidence. It may not amount to any serious damage, but the risk is real.
But if I let her go, would there even be anything left behind worth worrying about?
That's what it really boils down to, isn't it?
"Want to tell me why you think Sara's going to fail her polygraph test?"
Grissom jerked his head back around. An amused Brass reclined in his chair, his hands folded over his belly.
"She'll do fine," the detective said kindly.
"I know," Grissom responded, tapping his pen on the table.
"Then relax."
"I am."
"Well, I'd hate to see you when you're stiff, and I mean that on oh so many levels."
Grissom regarded him coolly, but Brass smiled as he stood.
"Look, when Sara told me she was doing this, I called in Marti. She's the best polygraph operator we have. I told her to be extra careful."
"Good."
"It's going to be a full test, lots of background material to make sure there's no mistake when they do the real questions. It's going to take a while. Why don't you go home?" Brass suggested.
Grissom shook his head, stretching wearily after getting out of his chair.
"Then go crash in my office."
"I'm heading back to the lab. Tell Sara if you see her."
"Okay," Brass sighed. "But a bit of advice, Gil."
Grissom paused, looking at his friend expectantly.
"If you're going to go all obsessive again, at least remember to shower this time," Brass mock-begged, giving a parting wink as he headed to his office.
"Grissom!"
Hearing his named called out in stereo, he stopped suddenly, lifting his head from the report to quickly scan the area. Archie approached rapidly up one hallway while Catherine bore down on him from another.
"Grissom, I have …" both started simultaneously, pausing to stare at the other. "Good…"
"In my office," Grissom sighed, ending the dual conversation before it could trigger a headache. He was already exhausted, and his stomach was seriously rebelling from neglect. Taking a seat behind his desk, he noted impatiently that the two were waging a silent battle over who would report their news first.
"Go ahead, Archie."
Catherine took a seat, flinging her hair back as she stared at him in surprise. Grissom shrugged. "He never gets to go first."
With a good-natured grin, the A/V tech took the other chair. "I pulled all the old messages off of Sara's answering machine. She was right – there are a number of messages left for the deli."
"Was that all you had?" Catherine said in mock-tease.
Grissom cleared his voice. If they did have good news, he was willing to cut them some slack to let off steam – to a point.
"No," Archie answered quickly, setting a digital recorder on the desk. "There were blank messages, too. Some of them ran for a several minutes. But listen to what's in the background at the very end of this one."
Grissom and Catherine concentrated on the garbled static, looking to the tech for clarification.
"And this is what it sounds like when it's been filtered."
"Hey! I'm back. They didn't have…"
"That sounds like Hank," Catherine confirmed.
"We're lucky. Dispatch has a lot of recordings of his voice from calls in the field. There's a little degradation, but I'd still say it's at least a ninety percent match."
"So, Hank didn't make the call. Who else besides Alcott was in his house on a regular basis?" Catherine mused, raising an eyebrow.
"Good question. Were any of the actual messages from Peddigrew?" Grissom asked.
"No," Archie stated happily.
"Not bad," she teased him as he returned to his lab.
"Catherine," Grissom prompted, putting on his glasses when she handed him a sheet of paper. It was a copy of the log showing all the phone calls made from Peddigrew's home to Sara's apartment. Two of the listings were highlighted.
"The first one is three minutes, the second nearly eight. Both are too long for a wrong number or a deli order. She wasn't home when they were made."
"You're certain?"
"Sara had appointments scheduled at the same time of both calls. I checked – she wasn't home.."
"An appointment?" Grissom asked, wondering why Catherine was being ambiguous.
"Yeah," she answered, staring at her fingernails.
He cocked his head in confusion. The last adjective he'd ever use to describe Catherine would be shy, so what kind of appointment would make her hesitant to talk about it? "Oh," Grissom said, realizing Sara must have been with her PEAP counselor at those times.
"Yeah," Catherine repeated in shock. With a smile, she nodded her head in approval that Grissom knew and had been cool about it. Maybe there was some hope for the guy after all.
"And thank you for being discreet about this."
"Hey, discretion's my middle name."
Grissom gave her a disbelieving stare.
"Okay, that might be pushing things. Brass told me about the ravine access. Heard back from the guys yet?"
"No, but the gravel from the tires puts Peddigrew's truck there."
"You mean I tore the damn thing apart for nothing?" she complained.
"I take it that's why you're wearing coveralls?" he surmised, taking in her grease-stained garment.
"Yeah. When the guys left, I got thinking. The access to the ravine wasn't going to be a nice paved road. I figured anyone could clean up the truck, but not everyone can fix one. The shocks and the suspension are both shot."
"The type of damage that can occur if the truck is taken off road."
"Especially when the driver doesn't know what they're doing. And I'm thinking Hank would know how to drive off road. Those paramedics have to get into all types of locations."
"True," Grissom agreed.
"And when I was going through Hank's receipts, there was one from getting his truck inspected two weeks ago."
"They wouldn't pass it with bad shocks and suspension."
"And he kept that truck in great running order. Never late for an oil change, all maintenance done at recommended times. I don't see Hank letting something like that go unfixed. I'm telling you – Alcott did it."
"But the DA won't go to court with what we have," Grissom sighed. "Since the gun came from our vault, the integrity of the lab is at stake. If he isn't positive that he can get a conviction, he won't risk going public with the fact that a killer took evidence from our vault."
"Alcott's good, I'll admit that, but she's not perfect. We're going to nail her. Sara's going to get cleared."
Grissom let out a short huff, rubbing his eyes after setting his glasses down. "She's taking a polygraph test now. Between that and these results, she should be cleared for work soon."
"I wouldn't count on it, Gil," Catherine said cautiously.
"Why not?" he asked.
"Politics. Lockhart is so sleazy even the other ambulance chasers hate him. I've heard there's a party fund set up from when he finally gets convicted of an ethics violation. Sara was just put on administrative leave."
"And if she's cleared too soon, he'll make it look like a cover-up."
"Exactly."
"Dammit!" Grissom swore angrily.
"Hey, look on the bright side. You've been after Sara to use up some more of her vacation time," Catherine pointed out.
"I seriously doubt Sara is enjoying this," he groused, fixing her with a pointed stare.
"No, probably not," she agreed, giving him a sad smile as she stood. "But I'm glad you lifted your head up long enough to notice."
Grissom shrugged noncommittally, checking his watch. Sara's test would probably be over soon. Once Brass let him know the results, he'd go to Atwater and press for Sara's return to work.
This has to be enough to remove suspicion from Sara. We have a confession from Saunders that he took the gun and gave it to Walker. She hadn't been in contact with Peddigrew, but someone tried to make it look like she did.
She might have to wait a little while, but Atwater has to let Sara return to work.
Good. She'll be glad to know her professional reputation's still intact, and that there will be no question she wasn't involved in this murder. And that's the last hurdle standing between us.
Or is it? If things hadn't turned out this way, I don't know what I would have done. Should that be a warning sign? I know I love her, but I don't know if it's common to have these doubts.
"You going home now?"
At her unexpected question, Grissom's head snapped up. He was surprised that Catherine was still there. She was watching him carefully.
"Not yet," he answered evasively.
"Gil…"
"I'm fine, Catherine. I want to wait for the polygraph results."
Her joints cracked as she slowly flexed. "Well, I'm beat. Things are going to work out. Don't worry."
"I hope you're right," he said softly after she left. Leaning back in his chair, he waited for the phone call and continued his self-reflection.
Nick studied the topographical map folded in his lap. "Turn left up ahead."
"How many of these little roads have we been down?"
"Well, since we haven't found the access point yet, I'm going with not enough," the Texan drawled.
"I still say this would have been easier to do by helicopter," Warrick said.
"Yeah, but none were available. Some hikers are missing. The living get priority."
Warrick bobbed his head, slowing the vehicle down. "Nick."
"I see it," he replied, spotting a dirt trail veering off the side of the road, disappearing around a hill.
Warrick eased the Denali onto the rutted surface, following the path slowly. After about a quarter-mile, the path dipped suddenly, leading them down into a deep gully. In front of them stood a weathered wooden gate, blocking their access.
"The padlock is brand new," Nick noted as he approached on foot.
"There are some fibers," Warrick said. After taking some photographs, he pulled a pair of tweezers and a bindle from his vest.
"White cotton."
"I think everyone knows that trick."
Nick leaned over to examine the lock in more detail. "Look at this," he said, pointing out the hasp and staple mechanism. "There's not much room to work here. I bet Alcott used a pair of work gloves when she took a bolt cutter to the old lock, but she had to take them off to get the new lock in place."
"So she used the towel to wipe the prints off. It would have been late at night. She wouldn't have noticed a few stray fibers."
Nick shifted his stance, miming the position needed to accomplish the task of wiping down the lock. His left hand stayed in the air above the wooden board of the fence. "This old wood is way too porous. It would never hold a fingerprint," he said, grinning as he turned to his colleague.
"But DNA is another story."
"Let's take this into the lab," Nick said happily. "It'll give Greg something to do."
"You remember what happened the last time we did that?" Warrick reminded him.
"Right," Nick said, recalling the earlier incident lining up the bullet holes in the dummy. He shrugged, going to the back of the Denali for tools. "No one can get that lucky twice."
"I'll remember you said that if he pulls another answer out of nowhere."
When Sara opened the door dressed in her pajamas, Grissom immediately regretted his decision to drop by unannounced. After speaking with the sheriff, he wanted to talk to her, but he hadn't considered the time. Her contented grin didn't completely put him at ease.
"Hey. Come on in. Want something to drink?"
"No, thanks." Stepping into the main area of her small efficiency apartment, he frowned. The covers were pulled down on the bed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't. I was reading," Sara said, giving him an apologetic smile. "Thanks, by the way, for the journals. I forgot to tell you when you brought them over earlier."
He nodded in acknowledgement, flexing his hands and keeping his eyes trained on the floor.
Sara crossed her arms, observing him carefully. She could tell something was bothering him, but as usual, he gave no clues as to what was going on in his head. A quick scan showed that he was wearing the same clothes as when he came over for breakfast at the end of last shift.
So he hasn't been home yet. When was the last time he slept? He looks exhausted. I guess it's sweet, in a way, how he gets obsessive whenever a case has a connection to me, but he needs to deal with it better. This isn't healthy.
Yeah, well if he did that, you'd still have no idea how he felt, 'cause he wouldn't have been so tired that he admitted his true feelings when he was talking with Lurie. Not that that was how I wanted to find out, but at least I did. Good thing, too. If I didn't hear that, I would have completely given up on him.
And it wouldn't have hurt so bad when he didn't recommend me for the promotion if I didn't know the way he really felt.
Why do things have to be so hard between us?
'Cause neither of us are very good at talking? I think we both have trust issues. I know what caused mine, but who hurt him? I hope he'll let me help him. We can help each other.
If I can get him to talk.
"I passed the polygraph test. Told you I would," she said lightly, trying to draw him out.
"I know. And we verified your story about the phone calls," Grissom said. After taking a deep breath, he shifted to face her. "I'm sorry."
"You're sorry? You wanted me to fail?" Sara asked disbelievingly, cocking her head as she stared at him.
"No! Atwater insists that you can't come back to work yet."
"Why not?" she asked curiously.
"For your protection," Grissom said. "If we take you off administrative leave too soon, it could look like you weren't really investigated. I tried to talk him out of it, but he won't budge. You have been cleared, just not officially."
"It's okay. Not your fault," she replied. Chewing her lip, Sara began running a hand up and down her arm. "So, I guess that means you still haven't caught Hank's killer."
"Not yet."
She shrugged, looking away from him.
Grissom turned his head slightly, thinking she wanted a moment of privacy. He ran his eyes over the apartment, pausing when he spotted the newspaper. Peddigrew's picture ran next to an inside headline touting his years of service to the community. Picking it up, he quickly read the article, frowning at a second picture showing him with Alcott.
With a sigh, he looked at Sara's profile, trying to imagine what it must have been like for her. He knew she was a very private person, much like himself, but he couldn't begin to imagine what it must have been like for her. To learn that the man she let into her life had used her; that she was never more than a secret he kept from his family and friends.
Slowly, he stepped closer to her, finally coming close enough to rest a hand on her shoulder. When she didn't tense, Grissom slid his arm across her back, gently coaxing her into an embrace. She responded by turning toward him, slipping her arms around his waist.
After a long hug, Grissom stepped away reluctantly. "It's late. I better get going."
"No way you're leaving. You're staying here. I'll set the alarm so you have plenty of time to go home to take a shower and change clothes before shift starts."
"I'm … what?"
Sara grinned at his flabbergasted look. "Dream on, buddy. First, you're way too tired to do anything like that. And that means you're too tired to be driving."
"I'm fine," he said, clearing his voice.
"Sure you are. Hey, we're finally starting to work things out. I don't want you wrapping yourself around a light pole," she stated, directing him towards the bed. "And the way my luck's been running, you would."
He smiled at Sara, taking comfort that she trusted him enough to let him stay. Even if he weren't physically drained, Grissom doubted she was ready for that stage. They still had too much ground to cover before delving into that level of commitment.
What counts is that she is willing to pursue a relationship. We've waited years to get to this point. I can wait a bit longer for the rest of it.
Grissom edged to the far side of the bed, shedding his vest and equipment belt before sitting down to remove his shoes. He then lay down on top of the covers and closed his eyes, ignoring the exasperated sigh from Sara.
An eye cracked open when he felt the cotton throw landing on top of him. With a smirk, she slipped under the covers, leaning over to hug him.
"Thanks," she whispered into his neck.
"You're welcome," he answered, opening both eyes and twisting his head to watch her.
"For being here," Sara replied to his unspoken question.
Grissom smiled, rolling to his side when she settled back. Reaching over, he lightly ran his fingers over the smooth skin of her cheek. When she closed her eyes, he let out a long breath. This was what he wanted. Wasn't it?
Then tell her! I've been thinking it over all day. What good does it do to reach a conclusion if I can't share it with her? I know Sara still has to have some doubts – put them to rest.
"I will be here for you, Sara. I'll do the best I can."
He drew back his hand when she opened her eyes. It was her turn to examine him. She had an almost embarrassed look. Grissom felt his muscles start to tense as her expression grew more serious.
"Can I ask you a question?" she asked softly, waiting until he nodded. "Why? I mean you didn't want to risk it before."
"I changed my mind."
Sara shook her head uncertainly. "This started after I got pulled over. You aren't doing this because you feel guilty or anything is it? 'Cause I did that to myself. Get that straight."
"No, it has nothing to do with your drinking."
"But you did change the way you treated me after that."
Grissom's head nodded slowly as he licked his lips. That incident had scared him – she could have easily been in a serious accident rather than stopped by an officer. It also showed that something was deeply troubling her, and he had no idea what it was.
Why would she have told me? I never encouraged her to come to me with her troubles. If anything, I've discouraged people from telling me about their personal lives.
And what have I ever shared with Sara? That's something we both need to work on – talking to each other. No time like the present. If I want her to talk to me, I need to be willing to open up to her.
"When the call came that you'd been picked up, my first question was if you were hurt," he explained, his hand coming to rest above her hip. "On the ride over, I kept thinking of all the things that could have happened to you, and I realized that I hadn't been a friend to you in a long time. If anything had happened to you…"
"But nothing did."
"I still made me think. I wanted to repair our friendship."
"Okay, but this is more than friendship," she said with a fleeting, bashful grin. "Weren't you afraid of what you could lose if we were together?"
"You possess the ability to hurt me like no one else ever has," Grissom admitted guardedly. "I know how much pain I would be in if you left me."
"Are you still afraid?" Sara asked hesitantly, her fingers touching his arm tenderly.
He took a moment to answer, finally locking his eyes on hers. "Yes."
"But you're sure you want to take that risk now?"
"Yes. I realized that if your leaving me would leave that big of a hole in my life, then I really didn't have much of a life to begin with."
Sara's eyes opened in surprise, both at the openness of his response and the emotional intensity in his eyes.
"Wow," was all she could manage to say, quickly rolling over and turning off the light. A lone tear ran down her cheek as she processed his assertion.
God, I wasn't expecting that. I knew he cared, but I had no idea it went that deeply. How can I convince Grissom I wouldn't ever hurt him?
Her musings were cut short when he slid closer, snuggling up behind her. Sara looked over her shoulder when his hand began running through her hair. In the dim light, she could just make out the play of emotions on his face.
"I want to live, Sara," he whispered urgently into her ear. His low tone couldn't cover both the need and the fear in his voice.
Grissom held his breath as she started to move away, fear paralyzing him. It had taken time to work up the courage to finally to admit the depth of his feelings, and now she was pulling away from him.
He watched, mystified, as Sara kicked the covers to the foot of the bed. When she joined him under the throw, a relieved smile emerged. He gladly wrapped his arms around her after she rested her head against his chest.
"So do I," Sara said, drifting off to sleep listening to the soothing sound of his heartbeat.
TBC