Chapter Three: Cold Dread
Two days after Sara had gone Grissom got a call while he was at a scene. The whole team was working the scene – a suspicious fire in a pub that had killed eleven people.
"Grissom," he greeted.
"Hi Mr. Grissom," a female voice greeted him. "I'm Sara Sidle's Landlady. I wondered if you knew how I could reach her?" the woman asked.
"No I don't sorry. Uh can I ask why?" Grissom inquired.
"Well she took a few small thing with her that were in the apartment when she arrived," the lady explained. "Doesn't really matter though. They were just insignificant little things."
"Like what?" Grissom asked.
"Oh…um…a set of sheets, a shower curtain and…um… oh yeah a knife out of a six set," the lady told him.
"Jesus Christ," he quickly and politely ended the call after that.
"Griss? You OK?" Warrick asked.
"Uh, yeah. Fine," Grissom lied.
Grissom worried non-stop for the rest of the shift. She didn't want to kill herself. Did she? Of course not. She'd accidentally picked up those things. Accident. Yep. She was probably with her family now. Safe and sound. Perfectly alive and perfectly well. She would start a new life and be very happy. 'Or she'll kill herself' the thought wouldn't leave him alone. Every phone call he received he expected it to be someone telling him they'd found her body.
Just about an hour before the end of shift Grissom's phone rang. It was Brass.
"Gil come to Devil's Smile. Now. Bring the rest of the team," Brass' voice was cracked up.
"Right," he said quietly. He hung up, feeling as though someone was using his heart as a stress ball. He went into the break room. "Everyone in my Denali. Now," he ordered.