"Nicky! Warrick! Glad you could make it. I know how busy you guys are." Brass was giving an opening night performance. Nick eyed him suspiciously. He was not interested in any more theatrics at his expense. "Listen, there is someone here I want to introduce you to. This is Mr. Larry Madison. Came down just to see how we were progressing on his friend, Vivian Wilson's murder. Tragic!"
With anyone else, it would be clear that this scene was being terribly overplayed, but there was something about Jim Brass. It was almost as if he believed in the snake oil he was selling. Suspects never quite knew where he started and where he ended. They spent so much time trying to read him that they often lost themselves in their own lies.
Larry Madison sat down at the interrogation table with a great deal of wariness. His bloodshot eyes and greasy hair looked to Warrick like signs of a possible itinerant gambler. He seemed to know he was in the lion's den, but was not sure of how hungry the lions were.
"So Larry thought he would come down today to see how we were progressing on the investigation. Larry knew Vivian for several years, and has kept in touch despite a break-up of what….a year ago."
"Yeah, Vivian's been a long time friend. I've been real upset about this whole situation."
"So Larry thought that maybe we could update him." Brass looked over at the criminalists.
"Well, Mr. Madison, I'm afraid we don't have anything to report just yet. Ah…key pieces of evidence are still under analysis." Nick turned to Warrick to see if he had anything to add. Warrick preferred to sit silently, arms folded, staring intently at Larry Madison.
Larry Madison smiled. In that smile, Warrick found more than just the usual clodhopper who popped his girlfriend and then ran through the backyard bushes. "Gentlemen, I am aware that this is an ongoing investigation and I certainly appreciate your time. It's just that Vivian has a son you see, and I am watching out for the boy's interests. Simon, who is 11 and lives with his Grandmother in San Ysidro, is quite broken up about his mother's death, and, of course, wants some mementos, some memories."
Brass cocked his head and snuck a glance at Warrick who returned an imperceptible shrug.
"The boy has an active imagination, and when he comes to visit his mother, they play games, spy games. And Simon and his mother wrote up a codebook of sorts, and the boy wants it. Says that it is something that he and his mother did together. It would make no sense to anyone else. Anyway, I was wondering if anyone here has come across such an item, I would like to send it to the boy."
"Mr. Madison, you do understand that Ms. Wilson's home is still a crime scene. Nothing can be removed." Nick stated.
"Of course, I just thought since it would have no bearing on the case, and well, you can talk to the boy if you would like. I could bring him in."
"Yes, yes, Larry, I am sure you would. But this is out of our hands. There is strict policy in regards to all items at a crime scene, if in fact we have such an item. Listen, I understand your devotion to the dead Ms. Wilson. State records show that she was able to help you out of a very tight jam not more than four years ago. An different ex, brutally murdered, and no one to alibi you except for Vivian Wilson. Truly, you owe her a tremendous debt. If there is something we can do to help pay that debt, well…we'll be in touch, Sir." Brass stared at Madison, matching his oily smile.
Madison retrieved the expensive leather coat draped behind the chair and left without another word.
"Does he just not care?" Nick turned to his colleagues. "He's going to put all his cards on the table right now."
"We call it a bluff, Nicky," Warrick sighed. "He wants us to know that he's not going fold no matter what we got. He knows that we can't find any physical evidence of his presence. Even if we find out how he did it, we might not be able to prove it with evidence."
"Only thing in our corner right now is that crazy, damn book you guys have been staring at for the last four days." Brass gave his colleagues a pointed look.
"We're still working on it," was the best that Nicky had to offer.
"Okay, but you get what I mean about him being a cocky son of a bitch, don't you? We are not going to let this rest, my friends. No way. No how."
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Sara peered through the spy hole on her door. Thick, strands of wet hair partially obstructed her view, but there was no mistaking the particular look of a Mr. Warrick Brown. She undid the latch and opened the door. He came in, and gave her a big hug. It was her first since the event. It unnerved her that someone was unperturbed by her physical state. She extricated herself and stood back.
"Oh, sorry, did I bruise you, kiddo?"
She shook her head, waves of wet, untamed hair covering her face.
"Well, today is my day to take you to the doc, and if I am not mistaken, you are going to be able to start moving those jaws after this visit. I may be witness to the first Sara smile in four weeks."
Sara winced at the Hall and Oates reference, a lifelong occupational hazard of this particular name.
"Maybe we could go out afterward, meet up with some of the gang. Hardly anyone has seen you since the hospital." Warrick spoke gently. His intuition amazed her sometimes. He seemed to sense her reticence.
Sara shook her head and looked away.
"Hey, listen, Sara, you are looking good. Really, I mean it. You have to remember I was there when we found you. I was…we were all so scared for you. And you have come a long way."
Sara wanted to hear the kindness of his words, but she could find nothing but shame and fear. She squeezed her eyes tightly against the tears that seemed to stalk her daily.
Warrick walked up to her, and draped an arm over her shoulder. He spoke into her ear in a voice that should be reserved for God or paying customers. "Sara," he said, "I adore you. You know that. But sometimes you are as crazy as a march hare. You are recovering. And you are getting better. And looking better. And you need to be happy about this. I mean, soon, I am going to have fierce, impatient, relentless Sara back at work dogging me for results on evidence I have had in my hands for five minutes and bossing me around at crime scenes. You are going to sterilize the break room every day, and throw away take out that I put in the refrigerator just the shift previous. You are going to work harder, get more overtime, snap at Grissom for little or no reason, glare at Greg, scare David, and generally annoy every breathing thing in the lab when you get back. And, Sara, I can't wait because we miss you very, very much."
She signed 'I hate you' to him. But Warrick was no more a prisoner to Grissom's interests than Catherine was, and so he just smiled at her. Finding no comprehension, she reached in and hugged him tightly.
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Greg glared at the book in front of him. It was a planner, plain and black, with dates. There were entries on every day: letters and numbers. A profusion of them actually. Painstakingly noted, sometimes a hundred entries on each date. Greg played with the entries; wrote them out in patterns and combinations, but nothing made sense. Clearly it was something that the author engaged in daily as all of the dates were filled.
Hypothesizing that it contained information for a bookie or it was some kind of code for gambling, Greg brought it to Warrick. But Warrick recognized nothing. He also made it clear that he was not an expert in all things illegal in Vegas.
Brass gave him the rap sheet on Madison, but there was really nothing on it other than a few aggravated assaults and a petty burglary. Greg was lost. The certainty of DNA work was absent in the more deductive field of investigation. If Sara was here, she would be working on this with him. Despite her reputation for impatience, Sara could work on something minute non-stop for days.
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"Hey Catherine!" he called as she walked by his door. Catherine stopped and popped her head in. "Sara is still not answering her phone. When did you talk to her last?"
Catherine thought for a moment. "Probably two days ago. Offered to bring Lindsay over again but she said she was too tired."
"She's not answering her phone," said Grissom. "I've called her every day for the last four. She doesn't even answer my voice mails."
"Yeah, I wish she wouldn't isolate herself like that. But, you know, she went through a lot. I mean, it's…different for a woman I think. Not just the physical stuff, it's the powerlessness. And the anger because the aggression is so distinctly male."
"Do you think that's why she has been avoiding me? Glasses off his face, regarding his old friend.
"Oh hell, maybe. She's struggling, and you are the one that means the most to her. Maybe she's afraid of what you think when you see her. Or maybe she's worried that you don't see her at all."
"I don't know what you are talking about." A distinct defensiveness clouded his words.
"Oh, get over it, Gil. You mean a lot to her. We all know it. And it would be nice if you stop pretending that you didn't know what the hell I was talking about every time I brought up the subject."
"Catherine.."
"No. I'm serious. If you want to have this conversation, fine. Let's have it. But if you want to sit there with a blank look on your face every time we talk about Sara, then let's just forget it. Save your charades for someone else." Catherine turned to leave.
"Please Catherine. Talk to me. I need your advice." Grissom was not able to meet her eyes.
"Then talk back to me like…an old friend who doesn't understand what the hell is happening with between him and his employee. Confused is okay. But ignorant for a man of your intelligence is just stupid." Brushing her blonde hair off her face, she settled into the chair across from him.
"Surely, you know that this is dangerous territory for me."
"Ah…some acknowledgement of the slippery slope. Good first step."
"I don't know what to do about her."
"Wow! An immediate jump into the deep end. I'm…surprised."
"Cath! I need your help not your sarcasm." His discomfort was evident in his hands, restless, as they sought a place on his desk.
"Gil, there is no answer to this. Feelings are risky. There is no certainty. They're explosive. That's what makes them worth having." A smile crept to one side of her mouth.
"Yeah, Cath, this is not helping."
"I don't know how to say this." She dropped her head into her hands. "Okay. Let me try this. A love worth risking is a love worth pursuing."
"Cite your source." He was staring at her intently.
"Catherine Willows, you asshole. What do you think? I have time to sit in a meadow and memorize sonnets. Just because my marriage was a study in bad relationships doesn't mean I don't know a whole lot about feeling a fire in your heart. Geez, Grissom." Her passion had her on her feet and pacing.
"I didn't mean to suggest that you didn't…."
"Oh, shut up. Listen. I'm not telling you to jump between the sheets with Sara." Grissom gestured wildly at the open doorway. She looked at the doorway and then laughed at him. "Okay, so you can be passionate about some things." She lowered her voice. "But Grissom, you gotta be real. If the girl means something to you, quit sneaking her entomology books for Christmas and calling her in on her days off and then ignoring her once she gets here. Quit staring at her when she's not looking, and then standing mute when she yells at you about your bullshit. Be real. She deserves it. She is probably the most real person I know. Every tear. Every smile. Every impatient comment or disgusted look. Do you ever wonder why she is so frustrated with you?"
"I didn't know she was frustrated with me." He spoke softly.
She just stared at him. "Are you autistic?"
"I don't think so."
"Well, it would be nice if you had a good reason for being this out of touch."
"Should I do something?"
"She's hurting. Ashamed. Angry. Self-conscious. You mean the most to her. Do the math." Catherine turned to go.
"I've been calling."
"Wow. Really pulled out all the stops, didn't you?"
"You're back to sarcasm."
"Always take that as a hint that you're coming up short in the insight department." With that, she disappeared around the door. Grissom wondered if there was a way for her to forget they had ever had this conversation.