Scorned
Summary: Finished. 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 for her 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 17
When Grissom entered the break room, Catherine eyed him curiously as she sipped her second cup of coffee. He headed straight to the counter to get his own dose of caffeine, but there was no sign of the tension that had plagued him since they started their investigation of Peddigrew's murder. Considering the case was still open, she was surprised.
"You look awfully good," she opined.
"Hmmm," he responded, frowning when he looked over his shoulder. "You don't."
"I'm exhausted," Catherine huffed grumpily.
Grissom joined her at the table, giving her a half-shrug in way of apology. "I slept well today."
"Really, Gil? Well, good for you."
The mug of coffee paused momentarily on the way to his mouth while his eyes darted up to see her amused expression. With an eye roll Grissom broke off contact and took a long drink, deciding ignoring Catherine was the best course of action. Unfortunately, she wasn't ready to drop the subject.
"So, what's your secret? To a good sleep? I think I could use some pointers," she purred, leaning forward and resting her arms on the table.
"A clear conscience," he said sharply, hoping to dissuade any further questions.
Catherine sank back into the chair, but her knowing grin left him feeling annoyed. Unlike her, Grissom didn't want his personal life to be common knowledge. Especially when it included Sara. He wasn't sure how to classify their current standing, but he knew they were on the path to becoming a couple. And with their work positions, they faced enough obstacles without the complications of office gossip.
Grissom toyed with the file in front of him, looking up as he waited impatiently for the rest of the team to arrive. He didn't want to think about the hurdles before them; every time he did so in the past, he managed to convince himself that the risk was too great, and he had backed off. Sara deserved better, and Grissom was determined not to harm her.
I can't do that anymore. When I decided to go ahead with this, I promised myself I wouldn't pull back again. I hurt Sara by doing that. If we have any chance of a future, I can't do it again.
No, I won't hurt her again, at least not intentionally. I want to make her happy.
And it looks like she's going to give me a chance. But first, I have to regain her trust.
When the alarm sounded earlier that evening, he awoke to find Sara watching him openly. Her expression contained an unmistakable affection, but Grissom also noted some concern and hesitation. It hurt that she was still wary around him, but it hurt more to acknowledge that he'd given her plenty of reason to be leery.
Waking slowly, he'd reached up to cup Sara's cheek, stroking the skin softly as she closed her eyes. They stayed in that position, both drawing comfort from the simple gesture. Finally, Sara pulled back and pointed to the breakfast bar.
The smell coming from the breakfast bar had driven the last of the sleep from his mind. It was then that he realized Sara was showered and dressed. She'd been up long enough to go out for Chinese food and to fix coffee.
That still concerned him. She was as exhausted as he was, if not more so emotionally, but Sara hadn't been willing to talk beyond admitting she hadn't slept well.
After a cozy dinner, Grissom felt something that he hadn't in years – he wanted to play hooky. The thought of calling in and staying with Sara that night had been powerful. And confusing. Just how much was his life going to change?
Probably in more ways than I can imagine. I haven't felt like staying home like that since high school. Well, not exactly the same. If Sara had been in my bed when I was in high school, I wouldn't have spent the day reading Asimov.
Well, I was tempted, but I didn't ignore my responsibilities. I did come into work. There's nothing wrong in thinking about slacking off, as long as I don't let it affect my professional life.
And change doesn't have to be bad. It was … nice … waking up with Sara there, sharing dinner. That is something that I could get used to.
Nick's greeting pulled Grissom back to the present. "I am so wasted. You look rested, though," he said, yawning deeply as he collapsed into a chair.
"He has a clear conscience," Catherine said teasingly.
"I don't think I want details."
"Oh, I think they could be fun," she replied slyly.
Again Grissom ignored her, waiting until Warrick and Brass entered the room before looking up from his file.
"Nick and I found the entrance to the ravine," Warrick stated while getting some coffee. "The gate is ancient, but the padlock is brand new."
"No prints on it, either, but there were some white cotton fibers," Nick added. "We did some checking. That brand of lock is sold at every hardware and home improvement store around. Not going to be able to trace it."
"We brought back the gate. It's old wood, so fingerprints are out. We swabbed it for DNA. There is some, but it's degraded. It's going to be weeks before there's enough replicated to test, though."
"Assuming it isn't so degraded it's useless," Catherine pointed out with a scowl.
"Is there any chance that Tyrone Walker killed Peddigrew?" Grissom asked.
Brass shook his head vaguely. "Can't find any motive. There's no evidence the two of them ever met, and we talked to Walker's co-workers. No sign that he and Elaine were anything other than acquaintances."
"Damn, she's good," Catherine admitted grudgingly. "Alcott takes her time, builds up an alibi that she had a gambling problem, but really uses that money to bribe Walker. He signs off on Saunders's claim in exchange for the handgun from the evidence vault."
"And then she drives out to some deserted back road, parks her car, then walks to a diner," Nick continued. "She calls Hank to give her a lift, claiming she's out of gas. When he gets there, they eat dinner…"
"What's the word on that?" Brass interrupted. "How long between when he ate and died?"
"Doc puts it at an hour or so, based on stomach contents," Grissom said. "According to Alcott, they made love in that time."
"She did Hank before killing him?" Nick asked disgustedly.
"That's what she claimed – after she found out the state patrol found her car later that night," Catherine said.
"Even if they left immediately after they finished eating, that doesn't leave much time for doing the deed and driving out to her car," Warrick noted.
Catherine smirked. "You haven't met some of the guys I dated. And for the record, she wasn't out of gas. The gas can on Hank's truck was filled, and there are no all-night stations anywhere in that area."
Grissom nodded, tapping his pen on the table. "So, Alcott gets him on that empty road, and she kills him when he climbs into the back of his truck. She drives him to the ravine, knowing that the rock hounds will be there in a few days. Somewhere along the way, she strips his body and cleans it off."
"There are a million places she could have dumped or buried his things," Warrick said. "And lots of self-service car washes. She rinsed out the bed of the truck, vacuums the interior before driving it back to his house."
"But how did she get back to her car?" Nick asked.
"Called a friend for a lift? Or a cab, especially one of those off-the-book drivers," Catherine ventured. "Hank's place isn't that far from some of the old, off-Strip casinos. She could have walked there and called."
"There's only one problem," Grissom said. "There is absolutely no physical evidence that shows the gun went from Saunders to Walker to Alcott."
Standing up, Brass placed a hand on Grissom's shoulder. "I hate to tell ya, but science isn't the answer to everything. Shocking, I know, but expand your horizons. Let's go."
"Where?"
"We're going for the weakest link."
"Brass?" Catherine queried.
He grinned. "We mere, humble police types were solving crimes a long time before you got all your fancy toys. Come with me. And bring your kit."
Grissom watched as the detective walked out of the room. Exchanging confused shrugs with the other scientists, he hopped up to grab his kit.
Entering the interrogation room, Grissom noted Tyrone Walker sitting alone at the table, his hands fidgeting nervously.
"Detective, what is the meaning of this? What's the big deal calling me down here in the middle of the night? I said I'd help you, but this, frankly, is harassment."
Grissom took his seat quietly. Despite his indignant airs, Walker was clearly on the verge of panic. His eyes were still trained on the kit Grissom had set on the table.
"Oh, I don't think it's harassment. Now, what you'll be going through in prison … well, let's just say that's another story," Brass said jovially.
"If you had something, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Walker said.
"Really? You know, I think you're wrong," Brass said, fixing him with a humorless smile.
Grissom rested his chin on his palm, keeping his face impassive. Walker was smart enough to keep quite, no matter how on edge he was.
"You see at first we liked Alcott for this murder," Brass said. "Hank had cheated on her. She took all this money out – pretty much went through everything she inherited from her grandparents."
"Whatever," Walker muttered, his eyes darting around the room as he squirmed on his chair.
"And Chuck Saunders did tell us he gave you the murder weapon."
"Nonsense. It's my word against his, and I didn't confess to a crime."
"True. But then we found these at the murder location," the detective said, tossing a bag of shell casings on the table. "Surprised? Thought you had them all?"
Now I see what he's doing. Those shell casings have nothing to do with our case, but Walker doesn't know that. And it's not illegal for the police to trick a confession out of someone.
"I, I, I don't know what you're talking about."
Brass brushed a speck of lint from his suit. "You know, DNA is a wonderful thing, but it's pretty new. The tests only became practical in the last few years. Before that, we didn't have to worry about cross-contamination. The murder weapon was in storage for fourteen years. Evidence bags from back then weren't designed to prevent DNA contamination," he lied smoothly.
Walker swallowed audibly, but remained silent.
"And guess what we found on the gun and the bullets? Fresh DNA. It's male, and it doesn't belong to Saunders."
"No. You, you can't test for DNA that quickly," the insurance investigator said, his agitation making his voice crack.
"We can't get a match that quickly," Grissom injected. "It takes much less time to rule out a sample. As soon as one locus doesn't match, you know the samples came from different sources. And immunoassays are even faster. They can be done in minutes."
"This is crazy. I didn't kill anyone!"
"Well, we do have a warrant for your DNA," Brass said. "So if you never handled the gun, or the evidence bag, then you have nothing to worry about."
"What? No!"
"Here it is," he said, pulling the folded paper from his jacket pocket. "And we also get to check your home, office, car."
"Stop!" Walker called out when Grissom approached with a swab. He backed against the far wall, looking around frantically as the officer on duty rested his hand on his nightstick. "I didn't kill anyone!"
"You know, that's what they all say," Brass said with a heavy sigh.
"I want an attorney, I want a deal. Elaine came to me, said she wanted to get even on some bitch at the Crime Lab. Said this woman was the reason Silmont was under investigation. All she said was that she was going to embarrass her, make it look like she was incompetent."
"Nonsense. It's your word against hers, and she didn't admit to being part of this," Brass said mockingly.
Walker slid to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. "No, I can prove it. I can."
"So glad you could make it," Brass said sarcastically when Alcott and her smarmy attorney entered the room.
"What's going on?" Lockhart demanded immediately. "You better not be planning on harassing my client any further. Your conduct during this investigation has been inexcusable. We're planning on filing a complaint already, but it would be so easy to modify it."
"Oh, that won't be necessary. Our investigation is over," Brass said, looking to Alcott. "We're going to arrest your client for the murder of Hank Peddigrew."
"What?" she stammered, paling as she sank into the chair.
"Detective, you don't want to do that," Lockhart said darkly.
"You have no idea how wrong you are," Brass told him.
"You can't prove anything," Alcott said. She ran her hands through her hair and cleared her throat loudly. "I didn't do anything."
"Besides murder your lover, you mean."
"Detective, I warn you, I won't let you file false charges against my client."
"Oh, there's nothing false about them. Is there, Elaine?" he asked, smiling at her ragged breathing.
"You're just protecting that whore of yours. Is she doing you, too? Well, I'm not going to let her ruin my life anymore than she already has."
Brass narrowed his eyes as he pressed the palms of his hands into the table. "Don't you mean you're not going to let Hank ruin your life anymore? He's the one that cheated on you. What's the matter? Did he keep cheating?"
"This is your fantasy, Detective, not mine."
"Oh, this is very real. So, what did his parents ever do to you?"
"What?"
"I'm a parent – trust me, there is nothing worse than outliving your kid. I can tell you, they wish they were dead now, instead of Hank. And they'll probably feel that way every day until they die."
Alcott closed her eyes, clutching her hands tightly. "I didn't hurt them."
"Sure you did. You didn't think about that, did you? What was it like, watching them the first time after they heard about their son?"
"Shut up," she hissed.
"Detective, I won't let you treat my client this way."
Brass leaned back in his chair. "You know, there's only one problem with committing the perfect crime. It doesn't exist. You made too many mistakes. And you know what the biggest one was?"
"Do tell," she sighed dramatically.
"You involved someone else," Brass said, waiting until she met his gaze. "Walker confessed. He told us how you paid him to get a gun from the lab."
Alcott shook her head. "Walker? Walker who? You mean that black guy from the office? I never paid him any attention, let alone money for a weapon."
"And I think this has gone on long enough," Lockhart said. "It's clear you are trying to frame my client. Let me guess – this Walker man got a deal to tell you what you wanted. Oh, a jury is going to love that. Let's go, Elaine. They wouldn't dare arrest you."
"Sit. Back. Down," Brass said harshly, turning his head to stare at Alcott. "Walker was smarter than you gave him credit. He didn't completely trust you, so he recorded the whole exchange in the Rampart's parking lot. We have the film of you handing him the bag with the money and him giving you the gun. And your prints are all over that bag and the money."
Alcott's jaw dropped, and she kicked the table furiously. "That stupid son-of-a-bitch!"
"Elaine, don't say…"
"I should have killed that bastard, too. I knew he was an idiot."
"Elaine,…"
"Oh, shut the hell up. A lot of good you were. You couldn't even get that Sidle bitch fired. 'We can't do anything while she's under investigation.' You are so full of shit."
Lockhart held up his hands in defeat, more than willing to let his client sign her own death warrant.
"You know, you're wrong about Sara. She never came on to Hank," Brass said, feeling the need to have that fact included in the official record again.
"Do you think I care about that? Do you have any idea what I went through? For years, Detective, for years I was with Hank, patiently waiting for him to propose. For us to start a family. And then I find out he was cheating on me."
Alcott stood, pacing around the room angrily.
"And you want to know the worst part? I blamed myself," she said with a deeply bitter laugh. "I figured maybe I did something wrong, maybe I wasn't making him happy. So I didn't complain at all about what he did to me. I even went to a lot of trouble arranging a job interview for Hank, to get him a better future. And the bastard got mad at me. 'Sara never tried to change me. Sara accepted me for who I was.' God, I hated her.
"And Hank had the nerve to be upset with me! Like we did anything wrong with the Lambert case. We didn't break any laws. But, no, I was a bad person for doing my job. Can you believe that?"
"So, you waited almost two years to get even. Why the wait?" Brass asked curiously.
"I tried to make our relationship work. All that time, I gave it everything I had. I turned down promotions to stay with him."
"And then you found the box of photos he kept in his locker."
"He got drunk when I told him about that. Hank actually told me he regretted not breaking up with me before starting to see that Sidle bitch. Said his life would have been a whole lot better if he just been with her."
"So why not let him go?"
"You don't get it. He wouldn't marry me, but he said he wished he had married that whore. He wanted her to have his children, but me, the woman who gave up promotions, who forgave him, who put up with him for years, no, I wasn't good enough," Alcott said, unable to stop the torrent of tears. She slammed her hand down hard on the table. "No one treats me like that. No one. So I killed him. And I wanted that bitch to suffer, too."
Behind the one-way mirror, Grissom's head twisted to stare at Catherine. "It took that much for her to finally break? It doesn't make sense. The signs were there that their relationship was doomed. Why didn't she just leave him before?"
"You'd be surprised what a woman in love will put up with," she answered slowly, looking up to give him a pointed stare. "To a point."
He raised an eyebrow in silent acknowledgement, turning back to watch the officer cuff Alcott. "She ruined so many lives. She could have ruined more if we hadn't caught her."
"You know what they say – 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'. And I'm beat. I'm going home," Catherine said around her yawns. "Hope you learned something, Gil."
"More than you know," he admitted, returning her friendly smile as she left.
Grissom left his hiding spot in the clump of lush trees, crossing over the carefully maintained lawns. When Sara had requested to stay off work until that evening, it didn't take him long to figure out why. The cemetery served as a quiet oasis of death in the middle of the desert.
He waited through the entire service, as Hank Peddigrew was finally laid to rest with full honors from the fire department. It wasn't until the last of his friends and family members had left that Sara made her appearance.
Now, she stood alone over the flower-covered mound, a lone rose in her hands.
Feeling a bit like an intruder, Grissom slowly walked towards her, sadly watching as she knelt beside the grave to place the rose on the top of the others flowers. Her hand rested there for a long moment before she stood back up. She was wiping her hand over her eyes when he rested his hand on her shoulders.
"Sorry," he said, giving her a contrite smile when she jumped.
"Hey," Sara said softly, turning away to stare at the grave.
Grissom stood beside her silently, wondering if he should remove his hand. They were alone at the cemetery, but he wasn't used to public displays of affection. And he wasn't sure if it was welcomed.
They were still feeling out their relationship. He'd taken the plunge first, admitting how he felt, but Sara had yet to return his declaration of love. She also hadn't turned him away, leaving Grissom optimistic, but definitely befuddled.
He'd staged a long mental debate about attending the ceremony. Maybe this was something she wanted to do alone. After all, if Sara had wanted him there, she could have asked.
Unless she thought he'd react negatively to being asked to attend her ex-lover's funeral. Grissom had to admit he wasn't entirely comfortable here, and that Sara would have been justified in those concerns.
In the end, he decided it was important to show support. If Sara wanted some time alone, he'd back off until she was ready for his company.
"I thought you'd be here," he said eventually. "I thought you might want some company."
"I, uh, didn't want to show up earlier. I really didn't think I'd be welcomed, with all that happened," she sniffed. "I'm probably the last person – well, second to last person – his family would want here."
Grissom inched closer, his hand squeezing her shoulder in comfort. "This wasn't your fault. You're not responsible for his death."
"I know, but it still hurts. It doesn't make any sense, but I keep thinking that if I didn't call Hank that night, if I had been stronger, he would be alive."
"Hank made the choice, Sara. He was involved with Elaine, and he chose to cheat on her. He kept this secret from both of you. And Alcott chose to kill him, rather than just get on with her life. Don't blame yourself."
"I said it didn't make sense," she said abashedly, dropping her eyes to the colorful flowers at their feet.
Grissom started to pull his hand back when she tensed, but instead slid it across to her far shoulder, giving her a gentle embrace before dropping his arm. When Sara slipped her hand into his, he interlaced their fingers tenderly.
"Thanks, for being here."
"It's the least I could do," he said.
"Hank was a bastard, for lying to us about the relationship," she whispered after a long silence spent over his grave. "But he didn't deserve to die like that."
"I know."
"I thought I could trust him. He helped people. It was his whole life. It never occurred to me that Hank would hurt me like that."
"He did care for you," Grissom said cautiously. "Peddigrew told Elaine that he regretted not breaking up with her to date just you."
Sara looked over to give him a sad smile. "Really?"
"Yes."
"I don't know. He lied to me and Elaine. Who's to say he wouldn't have lied to me and someone else? I mean, can you actually love two people at the same time? Hell, I'm not even sure I loved him. I wanted to, but I don't think I ever really did."
Grissom dropped his head, wishing he could take some of her pain away. "There was a box of keepsakes in his work locker. Of you, your time together. His family didn't want them. They're in my office."
"What?"
"I thought you might want something from it. Maybe not now, but in the future. There's no rush. When you feel ready to go through it, let me know."
Sara turned slightly so she faced him head on, tilting her head to read his expression closer. "You did that? Kept mementos from my ex-lover for me?"
Grissom shrugged. "I thought it would help you. I have no reason to feel jealous. He's not a threat to me," he stated, hoping it didn't sound like he was trying to convince himself.
"You never did. If I had known how you felt … Well, that's in the past. I can't do anything about that now. But, uh, there wouldn't have been any contest."
"That's nice to know," he replied uneasily.
Let's face it, I'm equally to blame here. I didn't let Sara know how I felt, and I was shutting everyone out when my hearing started to go.
And I never considered how alone she was. I always saw Sara as this tower of strength. I should have realized that underneath she was hurting. She's too empathic to be able to shut out all the horrors of the job so easily.
Well, neither of us has to go through anything alone again. Starting now.
"Let's go somewhere," Grissom suggested.
Sara gave him a slight smile, but shook her head. "I don't think I'm going to be in a great mood today."
He reached over to lift her head up, giving her a tender look. "All the more reason for you to be with someone who cares. You don't have to be alone ever again."
"You know, you might change your mind once you see some of the moods I can get in," she said, but rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand.
"I'll take my chances."
"Don't say I didn't warn you," she warned him.
He smiled slightly. "Ready to go?"
"Yeah," Sara said, giving Hank's grave a last look. "Goodbye."
Grissom led her across the grounds slowly, keeping their hands entwined. "How about stopping for some lunch? Or I can fix something if you want to stay in."
"You don't have to go to any trouble."
"It's not, and I'm hungry," he said. "Would you like to go to my place?"
"Yeah. I'd like that."
Her car was the closest, so Grissom led her there. Giving her hand a parting squeeze, he started to head to his own vehicle when she called out to him. Turning around, he watched as she tentatively placed her hands on his chest.
For a long moment, she stood there, her eyes trained on his tie while her fingers moved lightly over his jacket lapels. His hands lightly held her elbows as he waited for her to continue. When she remained quiet, he began to wonder if she had changed her mind. "Sara?"
"I didn't tell you before," she said, taking a deep breath and looking him in the eyes, "but I love you, too."
The End