Disclaimer: not my characters, no $ made…blah blah blah

Everything I write assumes that Ecklie didn't actually screw up the shift…this is sometime during season 5, no spoilers for season 5.

Chapter 1

Captain Jim Brass sat at the table, chin in hand, and tapped his temple with his index finger. This interview was not going as well as he would like. He would like the perp to give up a confession. He would like to finish this case up and go home for the day. He would like to wrap his thick hands around this guy's neck and choke the life slowly out of him for what he had done to that little girl.

Brass was beginning to realize that things very rarely went the way he liked.

His only witness to the brutal murder of a six year old girl was her sister, who was currently unconscious in the hospital, having been herself brutally beaten. Trina and her little sister, Eva had been walking home from the grocery store late the evening before. When they weren't home by 10 p.m., their mother had called police. Rebecca, a single mom, had told Captain Brass that it was her daughters' habit to go to the store for ice cream bars together once or twice a week. She called it their "sister bonding time," but stated that they were always home by 9 p.m.

Brass was sure he had their attacker across the table from him, but the guy wouldn't budge. He talked, though. He talked too much, Brass thought, but he never talked about the girls or the crime. He talked about golf, polo and fox hunts, all of which bored Brass to tears. Brass could only hope that all this talk would lead to a clue, to a solid piece of evidence with which to convict this sick-o.

The weapon would be nice, for one. Doc Robbins hadn't been able to identify the weapon used to kill Eva during his autopsy, but he was sure it was heavy, and it was probably wood. Robbins had found small slivers of dark wood in one of Eva's head wounds, and the ER doctor had also pulled several large splinters out of Trina's right hand, probably from a defensive wound. Both samples were sent to trace to be identified.

Criminalist Nick Stokes was assigned to deal with forensic evidence regarding this case. Sitting at the table opposite Kevin Rendall, he exchanged irritated glances with Brass.

"And what were you doing in that neighborhood, Mr. Rendall?" asked Stokes. His normally calm attitude was cracking, and he was getting fed up with the run-around from this guy.

Rendall smiled sweetly. "I told you already, I was going grocery shopping."

Brass balked. Leaning forward, he said shortly, "You live more than five miles from that store. Are you trying to tell us that there aren't any grocery stores closer to you?"

"They had an ad out for steaks. I love steak, but it's just so expensive, so I thought I'd get it on sale," Rendall replied, still smiling.

Nick grit his teeth and tried to regain his composure. "And how do you explain the blood on your clothes?" he said calmly.

"Polo."

Brass raised an eyebrow. "Polo? That's all you got?"

"Quite frankly, yes. I had a polo game earlier that evening. It can get a little rough sometimes."

He said this as if he thought it was a sufficient and complete answer.

"Yeah," mumbled Brass sardonically, "polo's almost as rough as hockey."

Unphased, Rendall continued, "I remember last year, the third game of the season this guy knocked out three of my friend's teeth in the first five minutes of the game. And then, the very next game…"

"That's plenty, thanks," Brass said, raising his hand as if to fend off any further polo stories.

"Well, if that's all, I'd like to get home. I have another game tomorrow night, and I need to rest." He rose, stepping toward the door.

The uniformed officer standing beside the door looked to Brass for a cue, but Stokes was already standing to stop Rendall.

"Mr. Rendall, I'm afraid that we are going to have to keep your shirt to run some tests, as well as your pants and shoes." Nick glanced at the officer, hoping he would know not to let this guy out the door before he gave up his clothes.

"Do you have a warrant for that?" Rendall asked, belligerent for the first time all evening.

"We can get a warrant, but we'd like to first ask you to volunteer. It's just to help us eliminate you as a suspect," Nick added. "You do want to be eliminated, right?"

Regaining his calm, Rendall replies, "Of course, but," he paused, "what do I wear home?"

Nick indicated the officer. "Officer Finch, would you please escort Mr. Rendall to a changing room where he can get some scrubs to wear home?" Turning back to Rendall, he said, "Thank you for your cooperation. We'll try to wrap this up quickly." He even pasted a smile on, trying hard not to show his disdain for the man.

Smiling again, Rendall patted Nicks shoulder. "Anything I can do to help the great men and women of law enforcement in our great city." He turned, following Officer Finch out of the room.

Brass leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling and tapping the table lightly with his fist. "Doesn't seem like he's too concerned," he said absently.

"Well he ought to be!" Nick said through his teeth, turning to look at Brass. "I know it's him. Grissom would skin me if he heard me say this, but evidence be damned! I know it in my gut, this is our guy!"

Brass stared intently into the younger man's face for a moment. "You know, Nicky, Grissom isn't always right about everything. There is a lot to be said for science, but our instincts got us through thousands of years before science ever crossed our minds." He paused, giving Nick a second to digest the idea that Grissom wasn't, in fact, perfect. "Sometimes you have to follow your gut, and wait for the evidence to back you up."

Nick started to say something, but Brass already knew the Grissomism he was about to throw down. "I said wait for the evidence to back you up, not make the evidence back you up."

Getting up and heading out the same door their suspect had left through just moments before, Brass patted Nick's shoulder as he walked by. "You've got good instincts, Nick. For what it's worth, I think you're right about this guy."

Nick thought how sad Jim's voice seemed just then. "We're gonna nail this guy, Brass. You and me," he said to Jim's receding back, "we're gonna nail him."

Brass didn't stop to respond, but kept walking down the hall, away from the small room and toward an open door and fresh air. As he stepped outside, he could see Mr. Rendall getting into his small SUV, wearing matching blue scrubs, unconcerned about evidence or gut hunches. I hope you're right, kid. I hope we nail him with everything we've got. he thought ruefully.

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TBC in chapter 2, after Christmas (even writers need holidays…and cookies…lots of cookies)

Please review. I love reviews….I'm addicted to reviews…even if you thought this chapter was stupid and it doesn't inspire you to continue reading the next chapter, review and tell me…I need to know this stuff.