Implied Connections
Chapter 17 – Return of the Dirt
By: Braidless Baka
Disclaimer: Greg's… doormat dirt belongs to me… I guess O_o;; As does Rachel. Taadaa!
A/N: Many thanks to my numerous betas, my proofreaders being RainbowsnStars and Krazykid197, and my "other" readers being Kal and Bishie. Muchos thankies people!
~~~
"So there's no tape?"
Warrick shook his head as he walked along the corridor with Grissom. Catherine had been sent out to help Nick and Sara who were still combing the parking lot for clues. "No, she called my cell phone."
"From her cell phone?"
"It must've been."
When they came to the corner, Grissom stopped, rubbing at his face with a hand. "How did he sound?" He watched Warrick's expression, wondering if he was going to try and soften the blow.
Instead, Warrick said, quite bluntly, "You want me to be honest?"
"Brutally so."
"He sounded awful. She's got him drugged up to the eyeballs. He said he had a headache, and that he'd only been conscious for a few minutes."
"But how accurate is his guess at the passage of time?"
Warrick shrugged. "Who knows? If I felt as bad as he sounded, I wouldn't even remember my own name."
"What does she want?" Grissom made to walk along the corridor again, Warrick followed right beside him as Grissom asked the question.
The response was another question. "You mean her demands?"
"Yes, Warrick," came Gil's suddenly clipped voice. "What did she want for Greg's release?"
"Well, she wants immunity. She knows she's going down for three cases of attempted murder, at least one count of first degree, and one abduction."
Grissom turned then, looking at Warrick quietly. "There's something else, isn't there?" He watched Warrick nod quietly, before continuing, "Well?"
"She wants to meet with you… in person, when she gives Greg back. Nobody but you, alone, unarmed."
"No police?"
Warrick couldn't resist a slight, yet rueful, smile at this. "Nope, no police."
"But, why?"
Warrick shrugged. "Something about telling you everything."
"Telling me everything?"
Warrick nodded.
"Okay Warrick, you stick with me. Next time she calls, I want to talk to her, okay?"
"Yes, sir," Warrick said, with a slight nod.
"And one more thing?"
"Yeah?"
Gil furrowed his brown at this point, making him look suddenly intimidating. "We're getting him back. Alive. I don't care how Rachel thinks she's playing it. I'm not about to lose my best DNA tech to some lying blonde with an attitude problem."
Warrick smiled at this, somehow reassured by Grissom's words. The supervisor wasn't really a people person, but when he had to say something he always knew how to say it properly.
"Did you chase up the evidence?"
"All of it." Warrick was almost glad for the change of topic. "We even checked the gun from Sara's apartment was the gun from the drive-by. Ballistics did it as soon as I walked in."
"Good, I'd expect no less. And?"
"Perfect match."
Grissom nodded, then steering Warrick into his office and indicating that he take a seat. "Okay, so update me," he said. "Tell me exactly where everything stands."
"Okay," Warrick said, nodding. "Shoeprints in the Hodgeson house, all Sara's sneakers. We identified that Sara wasn't wearing them, so my guess is Rachel."
"Are you positive?"
"No, just a highly probable guess."
Grissom nodded, regarding Warrick over arched fingers. "All right, go on."
"The hair Catherine found in the Hodgeson's kitchen, Rachel's. We've got an DNA match for that one."
"Placing Rachel positively at the crime scene?"
"Exactly. Blood found on the murder weapon was all the victim's, but we found a smear of blood on the butterknife. Rachel's again."
"So, she was there in a position to draw blood?"
"Yup. The gun in Sara's apartment, none of Sara's prints, but none of Rachel's either. Wiped clean."
"It's big, but small enough to fit in a field kit, right?"
Warrick nodded, following Grissom's train of thought. "Most things will fit in a field kit. I say she planted it."
"Okay, anything else?"
"Like I said, we test fired rounds from the gun and compared them to those in the drive-by. A match."
"What about the blood on the Toyota?"
Warrick nodded again. "Nick sent me off with it. It's Greg's."
Grissom restrained himself from cursing aloud. "What about Greg's dirt? Did we find out where it was from?"
"Some weird stuff in there. I was just going to go check it out when Rachel called me."
"Weird stuff?"
"Seeds on the doormat weren't from any plant indigenous to the Vegas area." Warrick watched cautiously as Grissom's brow furrowed again, this time in an expression of thought. "What?"
"Wherever those seeds are from will be a place Rachel, or Sara's sneakers, have been before. You find out where those seeds are from and we might have a pretty good guess as to where she's going. I need to know where those seeds came from."
"I'm on it," said Warrick, standing to resume his task. "Oh, we talked to Shelly Wilds. She's in custody right now, she's just talking and talking and talking."
Grissom nodded, also standing. "Then, I guess it's my job to go and listen, right?"
"She did mention your name once or twice."
"Let me know the instant you've got anything. Oh," he reached across the table. "Mind lending me your phone? Just in case. Just keep your pager on in case we need you in a hurry."
Warrick nodded, delving in his pocket and handing the small instrument over, before turning and silently leaving the office. Again, Grissom was glad for the silence in the room. He stood for a few seconds, listening to the sound all around him. Not many would admit it, but the whole building was working to get Greg home. Something the biochemist may never appreciate. But that didn't mean it wasn't happening regardless.
"You're going to come home Greg…" Grissom confided to the empty confines of the office. "I promise you, you will."
With that sentiment, he boldly moved from behind his desk and grabbed the door handle, intent on squeezing everything out of Shelly Wilds that he could. And then some.
~~~
It was tight in the trunk of Rachel's car. It wasn't a big car to begin with, and Greg was curled up inside it. At 5'10" and a bit, he was way too tall for it to be a 'comfortable' fit. The feeling was starting to come back in his right arm, making him shift desperately, more on account of the pain than calculating that it would hurt less in the long run. His awareness was still dim, the fear and panic tiring him out more quickly than it would normally, and desperately the biochemist tried to cling to some form of sense, knowing it was there, just not why he couldn't find it. He was also vaguely aware of his breathing speeding up, and his heartbeat was accelerating in his ears. He had enough wit about him to try and slow his breathing, but it wasn't working, just making it tighter, hotter, and more claustrophobic in the trunk of the car. Then, he realised with surprise, there were tears trailing down across his nose. He hadn't even realised he was crying, he was so preoccupied with getting out. He squirmed childishly, trying to wipe them off with his shoulder, but with little success. Eventually he gave up, letting them come, even allowing himself to sob confusedly as they did so. His mind was gaining a little clarity, if only he'd been even this aware a mere hour ago, when he was talking to Warrick. Or had he even done that? Was that a figment of his imagination? Was it an hour? Or a few minutes? Or maybe days?
"I wanna go home…" he mumbled, the words even inaudible to himself, as he squirmed into a more comfortable position and stayed still, trying to calm himself down. He did manage to calm himself down, just sufficiently enough to pass out in the trunk of Rachel's car.