Disclaimer/Author's Note – See Chapter One

Chapter Two – The Evidence Never Lies?

The victim had been in perfect health, with the exception of the large caliber bullet that had pierced his back just bellow the 5th thoracic vertebrae, transecting the spinal cord before exiting mid-chest, leaving a huge exit wound. Aside from that, the victim bore no other injuries, apart from the devastating acid burns that covered his entire face and hands, which Dr Robbins determined had happened post-mortem. There were absolutely no defensive injuries, no sign of struggle.

The time of death wasn't too hard to pin down.

'Liver temp and the extent of rigor are telling me that he'd been dead no more than 3 hours when those kids found him, Gil,' the Doc told him. 'Maybe even a little less. Lividity wasn't even fixed when David examined him at the scene.'

'He was found at around 4am, making time of death approximately 1am?' Grissom confirmed.

'Yes,' the Doc replied. 'I don't know who this guy thought he was fooling by throwing bugs into the mix.'

'Yeah, it was obvious they hadn't appeared naturally,' Gil replied. 'But the question remains, how did they get onto the body? Cross-contamination from another DB we haven't found yet? Or deliberate planting?'

'Maybe our killer didn't think we'd find the body this quickly. Was hoping his bugs would have more time to do their thing,' the Doc suggested.

'Maybe,' replied Grissom. 'Or maybe he's trying to tell us something…'

Grissom left the morgue and headed back to the lab. Outside DNA he bumped headlong into Greg Sanders, who looked both alarmed and very confused.

'Watch out, Greg,' Grissom said, exasperated. 'No running in the lab.'

'Grissom. I was just coming to find you. Something's… come up.'

Grissom followed him as he returned to the lab. Greg had recently begun to work out in the field with the rest of the CSIs, but a variety of difficulties regarding finding his replacement meant that he still had to put in time in DNA.

'What's up?' Grissom asked. 'Has the DNA come back on that hair?'

'That's the problem. It has. But… it has to be wrong. Unless…' he paused, looking hopeful. 'Was Sara working that call with you?'

'Sara?' repeated Grissom, puzzled. 'No, it's her night off. What's going on Greg?'

'It's her hair.'

Before Grissom could begin to process this, Catherine bustled into the lab looking worried.

'Grissom. We've got a problem.'

'Not another one.'

'The print on the beer bottle? It's Sara's.'

A far away pounding noise began to stir her senses. Slowly, as she started to come to, certain sensations made their presence known. First was the gnawing nausea in her stomach. Then came the pounding in her head. Finally, as she opened her eyes slowly, she realised from the pain in her neck that she had somehow slept on the bathroom floor all night.

Sara sat up slowly, fighting the urge to vomit. Raising an unsteady hand to her face, she felt her clammy skin. Something was definitely not right.

The pounding came again, and she finally realised that it wasn't in her head, but on her front door.

Grissom pounded again. Brass stood restlessly at his side.

'Take it easy, Gil, will you? I'm surprised you haven't broken something yet,' he said, eyeing his colleague uneasily. He had never seen Grissom this upset in all his years of working with him.

Finally the door creaked open. Sara looked like death. Her normally shiny dark hair lay lank around her ghostly pale face. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she looked like she could barely stand.

'Grissom?' she asked, looking confused. 'What's wrong?'

'What's wrong?' Grissom said incredulously. 'Where the hell were you last night? What happened? Were you drinking?' he quizzed her, his anger mounting with every word.

'Easy, Gil,' Brass warned.

'What? Last night was my night off. I met a friend. I came home. What the hell is going on?' Sara replied, half-scared, half-furious at Grissom's attack. 'And, no, I wasn't drinking.'

'You look like hell,' Grissom answered back, walking past her into the apartment. It vaguely crossed his mind that he'd never been here before.

'Gee, thanks,' Sara said ironically. 'Please, come in.'

Brass hesitated, and then followed Grissom into the apartment, closing the door behind him. Sara moved to the couch and sat down, looking as though she no longer had the strength to stand.

'Look, Sara,' Brass started. 'Some evidence has turned up in a case we got last night. It's pointing at you.'

'What?' was all Sara could manage. She looked from Brass to Grissom, who was staring at her intently, as though trying to read her thoughts. 'What evidence?'

'Finger prints. DNA from a hair,' Grissom told her. He sat down opposite her, placing his elbows on his knees as he sat forward, never taking his eyes off her. 'The hair was on a male victim. The finger print was on a beer bottle beside him. How did it get there, Sara?' His voice was calm. Too calm, Brass thought.

'I don't know. I…' Sara stammered, completely lost. 'I don't understand.'

'Can you tell us where you were last night? Who you were with?' Brass wanted to know.

'I went to the bar at the Tangiers. An old friend from college is staying there. She just flew in from LA yesterday. We talked for a little while, then… then I came home. I don't remember anything else after that. I must have fallen asleep.'

'Sara,' Grissom's voice pulled her gaze back to him. 'Were you drinking?'

'No. No, Grissom, I swear,' Sara looked scared, but more than that, she looked earnest. She had to make him believe her. 'I haven't had a drink since… well, since that night. I wasn't drinking. I had an orange juice. I only stayed at the bar for 45 minutes. An hour at most.'

'Then what happened?' Brass pressed her gently.

'I went out to my car…' Sara hesitated. 'I came home…'

'You're leaving something out, Sara.' Grissom knew this woman. He knew that she was always forthright and honest. But for some reason, this time she was holding something back.

'I don't remember,' she finally admitted in a small, scared voice. 'I remember leaving the bar. I vaguely remember getting to my car… but then, nothing. I don't remember driving myself home…' She looked into Grissom's steely blue gaze, desperately trying to tell if she believed him. 'But, I swear to you, Grissom. I wasn't drinking.'

Grissom looked at her. Her dark brown eyes burned with an intensity he hadn't seen in a long time. She wanted him to believe her. But more than that, he saw the fear in her eyes.

'I believe you.'

Three words. Three small words, but they meant so much to her. She let a small breath of relief escape her lungs. But that tension was quickly replaced by an even bigger anxiety. What had happened to her last night?

Grissom sat back, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose as he processed what Sara had just told them. His ever analytical mind began to format an opinion.

'Sara, you might have been drugged,' he told her. 'That would explain the disorientation, the memory loss. We should get you to the lab. Run a blood test.'

'Right. Let me grab a shower and…'

Grissom shook his head regretfully. 'You can't, Sara. You might have evidence on you.'

Sara sighed resignedly. 'Let's go then.'

To Be Continued...