Disclaimer: Jerry Bruckheimer produced CSI and POTC. Jerry is a genius.

A/N: The OC is mine. You finally get to meet them! Yay!

Grissom sat back at his desk, staring at the photos taken at the crime site. John Doe, and his car, photographed at every angle. The blood-spattered guns and dashboard. The car, interior and exterior. Sara was printing the car now, looking for prints on the door handles, and then, knowing how she ran with ideas, she'd look at the guns. Ballistics was working on the bullets Dr Robbins had extracted from the body. Hopefully, it would be a match to the bullet found in the roof of the car.

Grissom studied a close-up picture of the man's head. The John Doe had a hole in his skull matching a wound in the bottom of his jaw. The bullet had gone straight up through his head and out the top of his skull, splattering the roof of the car with blood and brain matter. A messy way to die.

"Dr Gil Grissom, I presume?"

Grissom looked up. He didn't know the woman standing in his office. He took a moment to try and remember if he knew her. She was tall, and held herself with the easy grace of the self-confidant. She looked about in her early thirties, or younger, it was hard to tell. She looked both calm and professional, and was wearing a navy-blue power suit. Grissom was impressed; the woman was the absolute model of competence and capability - but he couldn't say he'd ever met her.

"The plaque on the door said 'Gil Grissom'. You are the supervisor for graveyard, aren't you?"

Gil frowned slightly. "And who might you be?"

Brass chose at that moment to make an entrance. "Sorry I'm late," the detective said with a careless grin. "Got caught up in the hallway. Gil, meet Valerie. Valerie, meet your supervisor."

The woman's smile grew a little wider, and she held out a hand. Grissom rose from his seat, and shook it. Gil looked over to Brass for an explanation. "I don't like to be confused, Jim."

"Oh, yes, my apologies." Brass was still smiling. "Catherine told me to find a temporary replacement, right? Well, after I put word on CSI-net, Valerie here volunteered to take her place."

The woman nodded. "I've got my transfer papers signed and everything, in case you're wondering." She held out a small file. Grissom took it and leafed through the papers as Brass kept talking.

"Valerie here flew down from Washington to help us out. Her supervisor didn't mind, and neither did Valerie here. When she saw the notice, she volunteered immediately." Behind Valerie's back, Jim made the 'ok' sign, then grinned.

Grissom looked down at the papers he was holding, squinting through his glasses. Valerie Wilks, Seattle, Washington. CSI Level 3. Grissom blinked, impressed, but a little confused. All these cases she's worked on… And she comes to Vegas with barely an hour's notice?

"Well, now that that's all sorted, I've got to get back to work." Jim shook Valerie's hand, then left Grissom's office. "Just don't work her too hard!" He called, his voice echoing in the corridors as he sauntered away.

The woman continued to stand in front of Grissom's desk, waiting, the smile still on her face. Grissom sat down, and motioned for Valerie to do the same.

"I wasn't expecting a replacement for Catherine so soon." He admitted wryly. The young woman laughed softly.

"Well, Washington to Nevada isn't that far. And I'm far too punctual for my own good," she grinned, "Plus I'm always on the lookout for a chance to travel. And I love my job. No matter what state I'm in."

Grissom thumbed through Valerie's file. "So you're a prominent CSI, working in Seattle on the…" He paused, then looked up at Valerie, somewhat incredulous, and a little mocking, "Day shift?"

The woman shrugged. "Day or night, what does it matter? Solving crimes what CSI's do, yeah?" She smiled, tossing her copper mane. "And you guys were one CSI short, so here I am!"

"And your supervisor has no problem with you being here?"

"Of course not." Valerie smiled. "I just got back from an interstate case, and the criminals a little sluggish this week." Valerie twisted a stand of her hair between her fingers as she talked. "Besides, we're a little inundated in Seattle right now - a handful of cadets just got promoted. So I'm surplus." The woman laughed. "But that doesn't mean I'm of poorer quality, Mr Grissom." She smiled sweetly at Gil. "But if you have any questions, my supervisor is just a phonecall away."

Grissom smiled, then handed the woman back her file. He held out his hand, and shook her hand again. "Welcome to Las Vegas Crime Lab, Ms Wilks." He smiled a little more. "I hope you don't mind that we put you to work straight away."

The woman smiled graciously. "Not at all. It's why I'm here, isn't it?"

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"Ma'am, I know you've already told the officer everything," Warrick explained patiently, "But I have some questions I need to ask you personally."

The woman stared back at Warrick, horrified. "You think we killed him, don't you? Phillip," she turned to her husband, "He thinks we killed your father! Are you just going to stand there and let him say things like that?! Are you going to let him get away with it?!" The man hanging of his wife's arm looked harried, hen-pecked… but unlikely to start a fight.

Warrick sighed, "No, it's not my job to make assumptions. Ma'am," He bit out the word - this lady was being very unladylike - then slathered on the Brown-brand charm, "I need to ask you a few questions about your father. Did he have any heart problems? Did he have to go in for transplants or operations recently?"

The woman looked barely appeased; her mouth twisted sourly. "Yeah," she admitted grudgingly, "He had heart problems. He had to take pills every now and then to keep his ticker ticking." She brightened a little. "You mean his heart just stopped? He had a stroke? Does that mean you'll go away and leave us in peace?"

Warrick smiled tightly. "We'll see, ma'am." He turned and watched as the paramedics placed the old man's body into a body bag and carted him out the door. Warrick turned back, and smiled. Notebook in hand, he took a deep breath and tried again. "Now, Mr and Mrs Carson, can you tell me again what happened when you came home?"

"It's like I told the officer," Mrs Carson snapped, "We came home, sawPhillip's father asleep on the couch. We went to go check up on the kids. They were asleep. We go to make ourselves a late-night snack, and we wake up Tony. Tony comes down, turns on TV, sits next to grandpa. Next thing we know, Tony's screaming that grandpa's hurt himself. We go out, there's grandfather face-down on the coffee table, not breathing, his ticker not tickin'." She gave Warrick a very pointed look, as though to say, We had nothing to do with this so don't you dare suspect us.

"So let me get this straight," Warrick directed this question to Mr Carson, "You didn't know that your father had died until your kid knocked him off the couch?"

Phillip Carson looked to his wife for support before nodding. "Yeah. It just doesn't make any sense." The man sighed, and shook his head. "The doctor said that my dad had at least another three months. And he was fine when we left."

"Yeah," Warrick put his notes away, "A lot can happen in three hours."

"And what is that supposed to mean?!" Mrs Carson stared, "You still think we killed him? I don't buh-leave this!"

Warrick smiled again. "We'll see what the evidence has to tell us… ma'am."

The woman snorted, and jabbed a finger at the CSI warningly. "Evidence? I'll give you evidence! That old man had a history of heart problems, and it was only a matter of time before his heart gave out. So don't you dare come into our home with all your ideas and assumptions about what terrible people we are, because we did not kill David! And another thing…"

Inside, Warrick despaired. This was going to be a long night.

TBC

A/N: Both Warrick and Nick are having long nights, it seems. :) Anyhoo, I love reviews. Flamers shall be stabbed, strangled, castrated (or spayed) and then made to star in a CSI fanfic of my choice. Can you tell I don't like flamers?

-edit- Fixed up the name of Val's work place. Thanks to that flamer (you know who you are) for the flame! I'm going to have to kill you now, you realize that… Next time, read the story, kay?