Disclaimer: CSI rocks.

Marcus Vincent sat at the table, glowering mutinously at the one-way mirror, not knowing who was on the other side.

Sara looked sideways at Jackie. The girl was clutching her stuffed bear to her tightly, her eyes wide. She was jiggling about nervously, unable to stay still, and kept chewing at her lip.

"He can't see you, Jackie," Sara said, trying to calm the girl down. "And he can't hear you." The girl just whimpered, and her thumb crept into her mouth.

Jackie and Sara watched as Nick entered the interrogation room, followed by a silent, stoic Brass. The CSI smiled amicably; the manager scowled. Brass just stood back and watched.

"Just how long is this going to take?" Marcus asked in his nasal voice, "I would like to get back to work, you know. We have to rewrite the whole show now that Tina's gone."

"I'm so glad you're worried about her safety, Mr Vincent," Nick said politely, keeping a smile on his face. "I apologise for taking up your time."

"Damn right you're taking up my time!" Marcus roared, slamming his fists on the table.

"I understand you're frustrated, sir," Nick said, trying to sound sympathetic, "I'd be pretty pissed off if my girlfriend walked out on me too."

Marcus's neck turned bright red - anger, not humiliation. "I was not having a relationship with Tina!"

Nick held up his hands. "I know, I know, but the point is you need her for the show, right?"

Marcus said nothing, only watched Nick warily.

"I mean," Nick continued, "All of your models have different… measurements." He cleared his throat, then continued. "All of them have their own set of clothes to model. All of them have a different role. You lose one, everything else gets thrown out of whack. Right?"

Marcus nodded, but still said nothing.

"Besides," Nick flipped through a pile of papers, "Six is your lucky number. You've been in the business six years. You got sponsorships from six different clothing companies for the six models working for you…"

Brass broke in, "And you had six bags of cocaine in your trailer."

Marcus sucked in breath, outraged. "You were in my trailer!"

Nick stared the man down. "You had 1200 grams of coke in your trailer."

Marcus sat back in his chair and glowered. "Yeah, and?"

Nick smiled. "We're going to need your DNA and fingerprints."

Marcus smirked. "And what if I don't wanna give 'em?"

Nick slid a paper across the table. "Then I'd tell you that this warrant says you have to."

"What are they doing?" Jackie whispered to Sara.

Sara smiled back. "If we can match the fingerprints we found on the bags of cocaine in Marcus' trailer to Marcus, then we have enough to convict him of possession."

Jackie turned to Sara and stared. "Co… cocaine?" She blinked. "You mean, the sugar?" She hugged her bear tighter, suddenly realising something. "I'm not supposed to talk about that."

"It doesn't seem like I have a choice." Marcus said. He held his hands, palm up, to Nick. "Take what you want. As long as I get them back." He smirked at his own bad joke.

"Not allowed to talk about it?" Sara tried to make Jackie look her in the eye. "What do you mean?"

"I get in trouble," the model whispered.

"Trouble?" Sara's tone darkened. "What do you mean?"

But Jackie hugged her bear tighter and didn't say anything. Sara remembered what Grissom had told her about Jackie. Trauma. Dealing with issues by running from them. Fear of associating with any other time period than the one where she feels safe.

A dark suspicion started to grow in Sara's mind.

Nick thanked the manager, then packed away the ink and the samples. "So… could you explain why there was cocaine in your trailer?"

For a moment, Marcus looked like he was about to put up a fight, then he sighed and shrugged. "Ok, ok. I'll admit it. I have… I have a drug problem." The man looked repentant. "I've been stuck with it for years. I just can't seem to kick the habit." The man buried his head in his hands. "It started…" He snorted at the irony, "Six years ago. 'Round about the time I started managing supermodels of my own. I used to work for this guy, Jock Jones. I'm serious, that was his name. Anyway, I was his runner. I'd pick this up, put that over there, get him his donuts and coffee… then I was his social secretary, then his right-hand man. He taught me everything I needed to know about this business." Marcus looked very sobered. "It's a cutthroat business, let me tell you."

Sara wasn't buying a word of this sob-story. But Nick had to keep smiling, nodding, keep him talking. It was hard to tell what the Texan was thinking. Brass just stood back, his arms folded.

"Anyway," Marcus continued, "Jock figured it was time to let me in on his real trade secret." Marcus looked suddenly ashamed. "It's not all fashion shows - it's the little deals on the side."

"Deals on the side?"

"Yeah," Marcus nodded, "I got legit sponsors for the girls… and other sponsors to keep me ahead of the competition. As in, I ship their packages, I stay ahead… and I can keep some of the profits for myself."

"So, let me get this straight," Brass said, coming forward, "You manage the girls, get them their gigs, but at the same time, traffic drugs to and from underground sources."

Marcus winced, but nodded.

"And in return…"

"They keep feeding my drug habit." Marcus sighed. "It's like an endless cycle. It was Jock who first got me hooked, and who put me in this scam. The money's good. Really good. And it doesn't affect the girls at all. But once you're in, you're in. No getting out. You catch my drift?"

Brass smiled coldly. "I'm catching it, Mr Vincent."

Jackie sang softly to herself, and started rocking back and forth. Sara looked over at the girl. She couldn't be much older than Sara was, but she acted like a child. Jackie swayed back and forth, still singing… Her hair fell forward, and Sara's eyes widened. "Jackie?"

The girl looked up at Sara at the mention of her name.

"Jackie," Sara pointed to the girl's shoulder blade, bare in the harsh glare of the light, "Who did that to you?"

Jackie hugged her bear tighter and whimpered. She shook her head, and her hair slid down over her back again. "I'll get in trouble again… I can't tell you…"

"I do have one question, though," Brass straddled a chair and folded his hands on the table, "Why are you telling us about the drugs? I mean, not that this isn't a wonderful confession or anything, but usually it takes a whole lot of evidence and a tiny bit of pressure to make someone talk."

Marcus squirmed. "I'd rather get it out in the open, you know? I'm addicted to drugs - I'm ashamed to admit it, but you have to know what I do." The man frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then added, "Course, I can't name names coz there're some people out there who don't like that kind of thing and would cut certain deal short if I…"

The door burst open and Sara screamed. "You sick sonuvabitch!" Nick, Marcus, and Brass all jumped, startled. Sara's eyes were flaming with anger. "You heartless bastard!"

Brass was on his feet in a second. "Sara, Sara, could you take this outside?" He put himself between her and the manager, who was staring at Sara like he'd never seen her before.

Sara tried to push past the detective. She stabbed a finger in his direction, as though it were a knife. "Small wonder you were coming clean about the drugs!" Brass had to physically push Sara out of the room.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Sara!" Brass barked, the usually stoic detective losing his temper.

"Have you seen Jackie yet?" Sara barked right back at him.

When Brass shook his head, Sara flung a hand back to where she'd come from. "Then maybe you should!"

"Some other time, Sara," Brass said icily, "Like, maybe, after you've gotten a handle on your temper." He turned to go back into the interrogation room.

"Fine," Sara snapped, "But make sure you ask him why he chooses to treat his 'merchandise' like punching bags!"

"What?"

Sara scowled, and put up her hands in mock-defeat. "But, hey, I'm just getting all emotional because a woman in another room acts like a little kid. And you know why she's acting like a little kid? Because some bastard's idea of discipline is to beat the crap out of her!" She turned and stormed off, fuming.

Brass watched the CSI vanish down the corridors, then slowly stepped back into the interrogation room.

He smiled apologetically at Marcus. "I'm sorry about that. Ms Sidle will be dealt with later." He gave Nick a questioning look - what the hell was that about?

Nick gave back an almost imperceptible shrug before turning back to the agent. "Mister Vincent…"

"That bitch better not be running her mouth off about me like that," the man said darkly, "She has no idea what she's talking about."

"Really?" Brass said, smiling, "So what was she talking about? You wanna clear that up for us?"

Marcus scowled and crossed his arms - the easy part of the interrogation was over. "Clear what up? That cow's crazy."

Nick was barely able to keep his understanding smile in place. What about Sara having potential? What about Sara replacing Tina? Now she's just another 'bitch'?

"And if she thinks I have something to do with Tina's disappearance, there's something seriously wrong with her."

"Do explain," Brass said, slowly letting his hardened 'cop' persona take over. "Tina worked for you. Aside from the other girls, you were the only person she could have had contact with. You were, in essence, her boss. So, Marcus, what is this? An elaborate scam to get hush money from a Vegas casino? Some kind of insurance fraud? Where exactly is Ms Evelyn, hmm? And what is with the silent act we're getting from the other supermodels?" He slammed both hands on the table. "Care to answer that, Mister Vincent?"

Marcus rose from his seat until he was eye-level with Brass and stabbed a finger in the man's face. "I'm their agent and their manager. I get the girls their gigs. I keep them in business and give 'em a shot at the big-time. And if you think I'm running some kind of scam-"

"You seemed to admit to one five minutes ago," Brass barked, "What with the drug ring and all."

Marcus snorted derisively. "Y'know, I don't gotta take this. I tried to help you people." He tossed three business cards on the table. "Pick one. They're all good friends of mine. Talk to them before you talk to me." He grabbed his jacket coat from off the back of the chair. "I'm outta here, and I'm taking what's left of my fashion show with me."

"I don't think so," Nick said calmly. Marcus turned to stare.

"What!"

Nick smiled, "Y'see, the supermodels are staying here. You may have come clean about the drugs, Mr Vincent, but there's no telling what else you've been hiding. Besides, you've broken some serious laws regarding…"

"Screw this." Marcus stomped out and slammed the door.

"Pleasant fellow," Brass commented dryly.

Nick nodded, then also rose. "I'm going to take this," He waved the sheet of Marcus Vincent's fingerprints, "To Jacquie. She'll be only too happy to help us get this guy."

Brass frowned. "Nick, the guy admitted to the drugs being his."

Nick shrugged. "Just being thorough."

Brass paused a moment, thoughtful, then said, "Well, I know you science types are getting more and more thorough, and that's good. Compare the fingerprints so that the lawyers can't chew us up over that. But personally, I think Marcus is still hiding something."

Nick remembered Sara's accusations. "Like what?"

Brass smiled. "I don't know. Why don't we ask the next model on the list?"

-

"… And she just ran past, screaming."

Warrick shook his head. "I just can't see that happening, bro."

"I heard from Mandy who heard from Archie who heard from Bobby that she was freaking out because of Grissom's tarantula." Greg nodded, with all seriousness.

Warrick snorted, unable to keep himself from laughing. "Val is not afraid of spiders, Greg."

"Really?" Greg grinned. "Then what is she afraid of?" He reached for a notebook.

Warrick shook his head. "Put that pencil down. I'm not telling you anything."

Greg tossed the pencil aside and moved the pad of paper out of reach. "I won't write it down. Scout's Honour!"

"Sure, picture that."

There was a knock on the glass doors, and Val admitted herself. She looked calm and under control. "Hello Greg. Hey Warrick." She smiled at the labrat. "Are our results in yet?"

Warrick looked aside and coughed into his hand, trying not to laugh. Greg frowned, concerned.

"Are you okay?"

"I am perfectly fine. Why?"

Greg grinned. "Spider."

"What?" She frowned. "What about spiders?"

Greg looked crestfallen, then reached for the notebook and scribbled something in it.

Warrick turned to Val. "I heard you had a freak-out."

Val smiled. "I don't like cockroaches, Warrick. I really don't."

Greg looked up, a gleam in his eyes like he'd just struck gold. He scribbled something else down in his notebook.

"I talked to Jacquie," Warrick said, ignoring Greg, "All of the fingerprints, even the partials, came back Julia. But the killer left his DNA everywhere."

Valerie snorted. "How stupid can the guy get?"

"Stupid?" Warrick tilted his head, "Or arrogant?"

Val's lips pursed in disgust. "Maybe both." She sighed, then added, "So the results from the DNA will help us find the killer." She turned and looked pointedly at Greg. A moment passed. Warrick coughed.

"Greg?"

"Mm-hmm?" Greg said, distracted.

"Greg," Val said calmly, "The DNA results?"

Greg put down the notebook and pencil and went over to the printer. "Yeah," he said, sobering, "About that." He looked from Warrick to Val and back again. "Well, those samples you brought in? All of them matched either the victim or the attacker."

Val nodded. Warrick frowned - it wasn't like Greg to be so serious.

The labrat continued, "Swab from the carpet? Attacker semen." He read from the piece of paper. "Condom in the bathroom? Attacker semen. Blood from the guitar strings? Julia Westwood, victim."

"What about epitheliales on the strings?" Warrick asked, "I mean, if the guy used them as a garrotte…"

Greg shrugged. "All I found on the strings was Julia's skin. And a fibre, which I sent to trace. Cotton fibre, white. No good at all. White cotton fibres are everywhere."

"The killer wore gloves," Val closed her eyes and sighed, disgusted. "And he cleaned the guitar he took the strings off. He cleaned up his fingerprints."

"Yeah, well," Greg's face was rueful, "That's not your only bad news." Greg took a deep breath, then continued, "You wanted me to compare the DNA results to look for a prior? I did. And this," he pointed to the paper, "Is what I found." He sat down. "The least I can do is give you good news and tell you we got a match." He held out the paper to Val.

She took it from him and quickly scanned it. After a moment, she spoke. "Five matches," she said softly. "All to one guy."

"Five different cases," Greg verified. "All of them unsolved. Looks like you guys are after a serial."

"And he's never been caught." Warrick's jaw tightened.

"Wish I could help you," Greg shrugged. "But if there's no record of this guy's DNA anywhere except on unsolved case files, then you've got a lot of work to do."

Warrick held a hand out to Val. "May I?" Val passed the paper to Warrick, and he looked over the list. "Well, this guy's been working in Vegas, so that narrows the filed down a bit. I guess we'll have to look through the old case files, see if we can find out if we can catch him."

Val nodded, her face set. "Good idea," she said, her voice devoid of any emotion. She nodded at the labrat. "Thanks, Greg."

"No problem," Greg nodded in return, then got back to work. "And good luck."

"We'll need it," Warrick called back, as he and Val headed down the lab corridors. Val didn't even turn around.

A/N: Did I hear you right, Nerwen? 'Replace Sophia with Val'? Aww, I feel all special. Such a shame OC fics don't get the recognition they deserve. Well, after Val's gone, it'll all be GSR… I guess. I dunno. We'll see :P. I'll update sooner if you sprinkle nice reviews all over my fic!