Chapter 8: Interrogation

Greg was just waiting for the printout for the blood samples that he and Grissom had collected from their crime scene when he sensed someone watching him. Glancing up, he was surprised to find Grissom standing in the doorway. There was an air of uncertainty about him, as though he were afraid to take the next step that would put him in Greg's domain.

"You coming in or what?" Greg asked, taking care to keep his voice neutral.

Grissom swallowed his irritated response, and stepped into the lab. "Greg…" He trailed off as Greg turned back to his desk. It wasn't very often that the supervisor was unsure of himself at work.

"I'm listening," the lab tech assured him, so Grissom continued.

"I'm sorry, for earlier."

Greg gave a harsh laugh, and Grissom flinched.

"Look at you," Greg said, shaking his head. He felt the sudden need to get this out; to clear the air and make sure Grissom understood how things were where Greg was concerned. "You stand there, and tell me you're sorry, but what the hell is this really about? You're just trying to hold yourself together, and I hate to break it to you, but it sure as hell isn't working. Gris, you're falling apart at the seams."

"Greg…"

"Seriously, Grissom, you need to stop avoiding the facts and do something, before you go nuts for real."

There was dead silence for a long moment, and then Greg shrugged. "But that's just what I think, and I'm just a lab tech, you know, so…"

Grissom cut him off suddenly, his voice tired, his whole body seeming to sag with exhaustion as he shook his head. "I know, Greg," he said softly. His eyes begged the lab tech to understand. "Really, I do. It's just… I can't…" he sighed in frustration, unable to find to words, and Greg gave a small, hesitant smile.

"I get it," he said. And even though it was a lie, he felt so much better for saying it when he saw the look or relief that passed over Grissom's face.

Suddenly, they were interrupted by a whirring sound, and the printout for their blood samples popped out of the machine. Lifting it from the tray, Greg held it out to Grissom.

"Results," he said. He frowned as Grissom reached out to take it, and then froze.

"Gris? What is it?"

Grissom didn't respond. He remembered Sara's words from the rooftop. I don't think you should work tonight, Grissom. You have a lot of paperwork to catch up on that should keep you busy; I'll keep going on our case.

But you never actually agreed, he argued with himself. You never actually told her you wouldn't work the case.

"Grissom?" Greg's voice interrupted his reasoning, and he glanced absently at the worried lab tech, not really seeing him.

"She's just trying to help," he mumbled to himself.

Greg's frown deepened. "What?"

"Nothing." Another long moment passed, and then Grissom sighed and pulled back, his hand falling to his side. "I'm off the case," he murmured, forcing himself to meet Greg's inquiring gaze and keep his voice free of emotion. "You need to give that to Sara." Without another word, he turned and left the room.

Greg stared after his supervisor, the paper still clutched in his hand. Then a small smile flickered across his face. "Maybe he's figuring it out," he said softly to himself. Then the smile faded, and he sighed as he paged Sara. "Or maybe he's just finding better ways to make us think he's dealing with it."


"What are you telling me, Greg?" Sara's voice was impatient as she stared at the printout before her. "Our friendly neighbour isn't so friendly after all?"

Greg shrugged. "I guess. He said he got a piece of the killer, but it looks like he might very well be the killer. Blood from his knuckles matches the vic."

Sara let out a breath and folded her arms across her chest. "What do you think?"

Frowning, Greg cocked his head at her. "What do you mean?"

"What do you think about this – the blood matching the victims, and Grissom going on about that ring?"

Greg shrugged again. "After he mentioned it, I did remember that ring. And I took a look at the pictures of the guy's skull earlier – the wound and the ring are the same shape."

Nodding, Sara pursed her lips. "All right, so let's talk it out. Henderson wife's gone, so he brings home a hooker; blows off his neighbour and his other buddies for a night with his new 'friend.'"

"Goes over to ask why," Greg added, "and finds the two vics upstairs, in the bedroom…"

"You know," Sara cut in, "that wound was pretty ugly looking. This guy would have to be…"

"Huge?"

Sara smiled. "Strong. How big are we talking, Greg? In terms that I can understand, please – 'huge' is kind of vague, if you know what I mean."

Pursing his lips, Greg squinted and eyed her up and down. Warrick walked into the room and Greg smiled. "Maybe… two inches taller than Warrick," he said.

Warrick raised an eyebrow at him, and then at Sara. "Uh, I'm six feet two inches," he informed them at their pointed looks.

Greg nodded. "All right, so he was around six four, and he looked like he'd worked out every day of his life. The guy could have been on steroids."

"So he was strong enough to run his fist through Henderson's skull," Sara murmured. "So he finds them upstairs… punches Henderson in the back of the head, which incapacitates him, but doesn't kill him. Henderson was on top of the hooker, so his body stopped her from getting away…"

Greg nodded. "Yeah. And Henderson's face is pushed into the pillow; he's unconscious, so he suffocates. Then the woman – Kathleen Marley – gets a pillow shoved in her face as well while he pulls out a knife and goes nuts stabbing them."

Sara frowned. "A pillow, Greg?"

Greg raised an eyebrow at Sara. "Come on, Sara. A feather in Henderson's throat? The feather pillows at the scene had teeth marks in them, and blood all over them. I took pictures."

He smiled wryly. "I remembered that much."

"I didn't see any of those pictures, Greg," Sara said concernedly, "Are you sure?"

Greg nodded. "Positive, Sara." Then he sent her a sideways glance as he turned back to his desk. "Maybe you just didn't see them because you were too busy thinking about how long Grissom's been having panic attacks."

"Where the hell did you hear that?" Sara exploded, grabbing his arm and turning him to face her.

Warrick grabbed her arm in turn and pulled her away. "Hey, take it easy Sara," he warned as he kept his grip on her. When she had relaxed and settled for merely glaring at Greg from a distance, he released her. Then he swallowed. "Sara, what's he talking about? Grissom's been having panic attacks?"

"It's nothing, Rick," Sara said stubbornly, folding her arms.

Warrick gritted his teeth. "God damn it, Sara," he snapped, "You're not helping him by pretending everything's ok. And you're not the only one who cares! He's my friend, too, and I was just as scared as you were when I found out what had happened."

Sara bit her lip. Then she shoved her hands in her pockets and rested her head against the wall. "He was fine when we got here earlier; I even got him to eat something. But then we met up with Ecklie. He's such a bastard," she said bitterly. "He tried to get a reaction out of Grissom by mentioning the incident in the morgue yesterday." She glanced up at the two guys, who both nodded.

"Catherine told us," Warrick murmured.

Sara sighed. "Then he said 'you aren't going to be able to pretend everything's all right forever, Gil. Sooner or later you'll have to admit you need help.'" She sighed again in frustration. "I mean, I know he's right. Obviously, he's right, but coming from him… it's not friendly advice, Warrick. He's trying to get a reaction out of Grissom, make him lose it. After that he was all pissed off, and we got in a fight and he had this panic attack. He couldn't breathe. He was so freaked out that he almost fainted. What if loses it, Warrick? What if he keeps denying it and one day just can't handle it anymore?"

"Hey," Warrick said soothingly, rubbing her arm, "Take it easy. That's not gonna happen, all right? We won't let that happen."

Sara nodded. "I know," she murmured, "I just get scared sometimes."

With a weak smile, Warrick agreed. "Yeah, I know what you mean. It was hard enough figuring Grissom out before all this."

They were silent for a moment, and then Sara looked at Greg. "How did you know?" she asked softly.

Greg shot her a worried glance. "You really want to know?"

Sara gave him a look that left no question.

He sighed. "Gossip, Sara, gossip. The rumour mill's been working overtime since Grissom got back; everyone knows everything."

Sara swore. "God damn it. That means Cavallo and Atwater might find out."

Greg shrugged, an apologetic look on his face. "I'd stop them from talking if I could. I know what this could do to Grissom as well as you guys."

"Hey guys, you coming? Grissom's got assignments in the break room." They all looked up in surprise as Catherine's voice interrupted, and she frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Uh, nothing," Warrick said, shrugging.

Catherine's frown deepened, but she let it go at that. "Well, hurry up. I want to get through tonight with everybody in one piece."

She disappeared down the hall, and Warrick glanced at his two companions, shrugged, and followed the blonde.

Sara started to go after him, but then paused when she realized Greg was still sitting at his desk. "You coming?"

Greg shook his head. "I'm grounded to my lab, remember?"

Sara laughed. "No you're not, Greg, you're with me."

"But Grissom…"

"Hey," she said, "Let me handle Grissom, all right?"

Greg still looked doubtful, but when Sara left he was right behind her as they jogged to catch up with Warrick and Catherine.


Nick and Grissom were already at the break room when they got there. Nick looked up when he heard them come in.

Putting a finger to his lips, he nodded towards Grissom. It was only then that they realized their supervisor wasn't really with them. He sat, his elbows resting on the table, palms flat against it; the night's assignments were trapped beneath his right hand. His head was down, and he stared at the smooth surface before him, his eyes filled with a strange mixture of fear and an emotion they couldn't quite place.

How long? Catherine mouthed at Nick.

The Texan shook his head, and held up four fingers. Four minutes.

Catherine grimaced, and glanced at Grissom again. "Gris?" she said softly. He didn't respond. "Gil!"

He snapped to at that, and shook his head as though to clear it. "Sorry," he muttered as he glanced down at the assignment slips, "I guess I zoned out for a minute there."

"Uh, yeah," Nick said softly, "Just for a minute."

Grissom didn't appear to have heard, though, as he shuffled the papers for a minute, lost in his own world, a confused scowl on his face. "Catherine, Warrick, you need something to do, right?" he asked hesitantly, unsure of where everyone was at.

They nodded simultaneously as Warrick spoke up. "The paperwork from the other night's on your desk already."

"All right," Grissom muttered. He was silent for a minute, and then he shook himself. "Nicky, what about you?" He hated not knowing what was going on.

"Uh, yeah, paperwork for my B&E's pending." He grinned at Grissom's raised eyebrow. "I'll have it on your desk before shift is over, all right?"

"Sure," Grissom muttered, already distracted as he once again went through the assignments. He couldn't seem to focus. Finally, he figured out what he wanted to do and handed Catherine a slip. "Cath, you get a trick roll."

"Oh, give me a break, Grissom," she whined, "You can't be serious!"

"I am serious, Catherine," he replied as he shoved the paper into her hand.

"Why can't you give it to the kids over there?" She motioned to Warrick and Nick who protested indignantly.

Grissom just smiled and shook his head. "Get off your soapbox, Catherine," he told her before he turned a deaf ear to her pleas and handed a slip off to Nick. "You and Warrick get a DB downtown, Fremont District. Suspicious circs."

"All right," Nick crowed as he and Warrick slapped high-fives.

Grissom ignored them as he looked up at Sara for a second before glancing back down at his notes so he wouldn't have to meet her eyes. "Uh, Sara, you're working on that DB from the other night, correct?"

"Yeah," Sara replied, frowning as she eyed him.

"What's going on with that?"

"Uh, Greg and I have got a lead, and a suspect. We're gonna phone Brass as soon as we're done here, see if he can set up an interview."

Grissom glanced up. "Greg?" he said, frowning.

The lab tech held his breath, but Grissom only sighed, and shook his head. "All right. Sure." Then he stood, a couple of files tucked securely under his arm. "I'll be in my office if anybody needs me."

"What?" Catherine said, turning from the coffee pot, but he was already gone. She turned to the rest of the group. "He's not working on a case?"

A shrug ran through the group before Sara nodded. "He's gonna spend the night catching up on paperwork," she informed them. She met Catherine's eyes, and the blonde raised an eyebrow.

You've been talking to him, her gaze said.

Sara raised an eyebrow back. Damn right.

Nick groaned. "Not even gonna ask," he stated, raising a hand. "We'll see you guys later." He and Warrick headed out.

Sara glanced at Greg, and nodded after the other two guys. "Hey Greg, why don't you go and finish up whatever needs doing in your lab, and I'll meet you there in a minute."

Greg rolled his eyes. "All right, I get it, I get it, you don't want me here when you discuss whatever you need to discuss. Which is probably Grissom, but…" As he wandered off down the hall his voice faded out, but they couldn't help but grin at each other; it was a safe bet that he was still talking.

"So…" Catherine didn't need to say anything else.

"We discussed it, and decided it would be better if he stuck around the lab today and didn't work a case."

"We?" Catherine looked doubtful.

Sara smiled. "Ok, so I decided. But he agreed."

The older woman nodded. "Well, that's good. I guess. What happened earlier?" Her look became serious. "I saw the bandage on his hand, Sara. Everyone else did, too. We were just smart enough not to say anything."

Sara sighed at that and shook her head. "Honestly? I don't know. When I woke up he was in the shower, and when he got out it was like that. He tried to hide it; kept it in his pocket."

Catherine frowned. "You push him about it?"

"I was going to, but when he finally agreed to let me take him to the doctors I decided to leave him alone."

"For now, anyways," Catherine said, and Sara shrugged in agreement, a smile flickering over her face.

"For now."


Half an hour later Sara, Greg and Brass stood outside interrogation room one; 'the neighbour,' Jarrett Taylor, waited inside. When he had walked in, Sara had smiled to herself. He still wore the ring, and she noted that Greg and Grissom had been right. It looked like it would fit perfectly into the wound on their vic's skull.

"Did you get a warrant, Jim?" she asked, and Brass shook his head.

"Nope, sorry."

Sara shrugged. "I didn't think so. No judge would hand one over with the evidence we have. Or lack of evidence, I guess."

Brass nodded. "Well, see if you can bluff him; make him think we've got him dead to rights." He smiled. "Maybe he'll cave when you show him the evidence."

Sara smiled back at him. "You're very deceptive, Jim," she said.

"Always," he replied. Then, as she turned towards the door, Brass stopped her. "Just take it easy, Sara. If he lawyers up we're screwed." They exchanged glances; both knew that the case was a mess. If Jarrett couldn't be trapped and forced to confess, the case might very well never get to trial. And they both knew that most of this mess had been caused by Grissom's serious lack of judgement.

As Sara and Brass entered the interrogation room, Greg disappeared into the observation room. Sara wasn't comfortable having him in the interrogation room. After all, he wasn't really a proper CSI yet, and while she would allow him to work this case with her, she wouldn't be assigning him any big duties. If she had been at the crime scene with Greg and Grissom, there would have been no way that the lab tech would have been processing that scene. But then, if Grissom had been thinking straight, he never would have allowed Greg to process either.

Forcing her mind back to the task at hand, Sara took a seat at the table, opposite Taylor. He was a big guy, just as Greg had said; he wore a t-shirt, and Sara could see that tattoos covered every visible inch of skin. Other than that, however, he looked perfectly respectable. His curly black hair was cut short, and his clothes were neat and well-fitting. And Greg had apparently exaggerated when he said the guy looked as though he were on steroids. He was muscular, but not overly so.

As Brass took up his regular position by the wall, Sara introduced herself and placed a tape recorder on the table, explaining that she would be recording the conversation.

"Mr. Taylor, I assume you know why you're here?" she began.

"This is about Larry, isn't it?"

Sara nodded, and glanced down at her notes. "Do you understand your rights?"

"Huh?"

Sara sighed. "Your Miranda rights, Mr. Taylor. You have the right to have an attorney present during this questioning. You don't have to say anything without legal counsel."

"Do I need an attorney?" he questioned, a bit confused.

Sara kept her voice calm and her face blank as she stared straight at him. "I don't know. Do you?"

A muscle in his cheek twitched. Sara held her breath.

"No, I don't," he stated firmly. "I'm not guilty of anything."

Hiding her relief, Sara continued "Can you recount what happened the night Mr. Henderson was killed, please, Mr. Taylor?"

Taylor frowned. "I already gave my statement to the police officers."

Once again, Sara nodded. "I know, but I'd like to hear it from you."

With an awkward shrug, the man leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "Yeah, whatever, sure." He quickly repeated his version of events; it was exactly the same as the story he'd told police officers at the scene.

"Ok, thank you," Sara murmured when he was finished. "Is there anything you want to add, Mr. Taylor? Anything you might have remembered since the last time you talked with the police?"

He looked confused for a second, shaking his head. "Uh, no, that's it."

Sara nodded. "All right then." She paused for a moment, and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "The evidence says you're lying."

"What the hell?" Taylor blurted.

Sara continued as though he hadn't said anything. "Larry Henderson's blood was on your knuckles."

"Yeah," he sputtered, "I touched the body."

"You specifically told police – and me just a minute ago – that the blood on your knuckles came from the killer."

Taylor's mouth opened and closed as he stared at them in disbelief. "Maybe I got confused," he finally said as he looked down. "Maybe the guy didn't bleed when I hit him."

"All right," Sara nodded, "Then explain to me why your ring is imprinted in Mr. Henderson's skull?"

"Maybe I should…"

"Why'd you do it?" Sara cut in.

"I didn't do it! I want to…"

"Mr. Henderson was your neighbour. I thought you told us he was your friend?" Against the wall, Brass took a sharp breath. Sara was playing a dangerous game, toying with this guy. She wasn't allowing him the time to say he wanted council; she kept cutting him off, diverting his attention.

"He was my friend," Taylor snapped.

"Then why'd you kill him?"

"I didn't!"

"Come on, Taylor. We have you dead to rights. You killed your buddy and his hooker friend; the evidence will land you in jail for life."

"No."

"Yes. You killed them for no reason."

It seemed the last statement got to Taylor, and he exploded.

"I had a good reason!" he bellowed. "I had a God damn good reason! That son of a bitch, cheating on Samantha like that! He had no right. She was a good wife; a good person."

Sara's eyebrows went up in surprise at the rage on his face. "You killed them because you thought he was wrong to cheat on his wife?"

"Damn right!" he yelled. "Do you know how much this is going to hurt Samantha? To find out that he hired a hooker? You have no idea how awful that can make a person feel."

Sara shook her head. "No more awful than finding out that your neighbour killed your husband while you were away," she said icily.