Ring Lardner
Part four: Warrick- Las Vegas, 1999
Warrick stared at the simple, flat envelope with a significant amount of reluctance, turning it over slowly in his lean, brown hands. The legible, black handwriting on the front merely read:
Warrick Brown
Las Vegas Criminalistics Lab
North Tropicana Boulevard
He swallowed uncomfortably, glancing at the tiny red stamped logo on the corner of the stamp. It was that which gave him considerable pause. Calder and Co. Investigative Agency.
Several months ago, he had contacted the private investigators with the intent to track down his father. A man who had been absent all of his life, but who he had harboured an inner, secret unwanted desire to know for most of that time.
Sighing, he considered the seal as he sat in one of the soft, leather chairs in the break room, nursing a steaming mug of coffee at his elbow. He had almost forgotten about his hesitant request until now. He knew his grandmother wouldn't approve. She had more than blatantly established her opinion of George Brown, and he couldn't blame her for her sentiments. He felt the same way.
George had abandoned him when he was a baby, leaving his mother to raise him alone until she died when he was only seven, overworked and unappreciated. Not so much as a stray Christmas card or late night phone call. He had forgotten them, and they had done their best to forget about him.
Except Warrick had a difficult time convincing himself to hate someone so vehemently who he had never met, and who was fundamentally a part of himself.
He glanced up at the sound of brisk heels as they clicked loudly in the hall, jolted from his reverie. Catherine strode into the room; flicking her short blonde hair loosely over one shoulder and looking harried, as she strode directly for the coffeemaker.
She drew in a deep, relieved sigh as the warm beverage slid down her throat, a sensuous, pleasing sound that unwittingly appealed to him and that he struggled to ignore. She was an attractive, slightly older female co-worker, and she was strictly off-limits because she was married, and she had a kid. Even if everyone with half a brain knew her marriage was on the rocks.
"I needed that", she announced unabashedly, leaning idly back against the smooth wooden bench, run her other hand tiredly through her untidy locks.
"Tough case, huh?" he guessed wryly, smiling at his friend sympathetically.
Catherine nodded, eyes widening earnestly. "Oh yeah, the worst", she agreed fervently, glancing around until she finally lifted the half-empty coffeemaker, and studied her reflection, attempting to fix her hair. "Man, once I see that bastard behind bars, I'll sleep a lot better at night."
He tilted an eyebrow in agreement, dimly recalling her case. A crack addict who kidnapped and raped a ten-year-old girl. Cath always had trouble with ones like that. They all had their weakness, and hers was cases with little kids. But then he thought they probably affected everybody. He drew in a deep sigh, hating what it was about innocent children that made them so susceptible to harm. He glanced back down at the unopened envelope in his hands, studying it distractedly.
Catherine noted the shift in his attention, and slowly crossed to one of the chairs opposite him, sliding gracefully into it. "So. What's up?" she asked nonchalantly, gesturing languidly at the envelope.
He followed her gaze, noticing how he had worried the edges. "Oh." He pursed his lips, inwardly cursing himself from bringing attention to his obvious unease. "Uh, nothing, really. Just something I don't really want to take care of".
She nodded carefully, turning her lips down in sympathy. "Ah. One of those things".
"Yeah", he murmured, leaning back in his chair.
Catherine considered him quietly, nursing her mug carefully between both hands. "Anything you want to share?" she asked slowly, sensing his reluctance to do so.
He shrugged, musing it over for a moment. Catherine was one of the lab's most notorious gossipers, but he knew when it came down to something important, she was ideal to confide in. After all, there had to be a reason she and Grissom were so close.
"Do you talk to your father much?" he asked at last, glancing at her over the short length of table between them.
Catherine shrugged one shoulder, taking another sip of her coffee. "I don't really know my father", she admitted unperturbedly. "He walked out on my family when I was a kid. My mother never even went to him for child support".
He stared at her in surprise after this admission. He'd never really considered that he might have his parental dysfunctions in common with anyone else.
"Really?" he said slowly.
She nodded. "Mmm hmm. I learnt to get over it. If he could do something like that, then he just wasn't worth crying over."
He frowned, tapping the envelope vaguely against one palm. "My father left just after I was born", he confessed quietly. "I never knew him".
Catherine paused, eyeing him with genuine sadness. "I'm sorry", she said sincerely.
"How do you get past something like that?" he mused aloud, studying his reflection in the shiny table veneer. "Your own parent not even wanting you?"
Catherine blew out a contemplative sigh, flexing her perfectly manicured fingers absently on the tabletop. "Well, the way I see it, we all have some sort of mommy or daddy complex", she started, waving her hands vaguely. "Some of us just have them a lot more than others. You've gotta look past it, realise that there's something wrong with them, not you, or you just won't be able to move on. If someone can have a family before they're ready for it, and they're not willing to face up to it afterwards, then they're not really worth it anyway, are they?"
He glanced at her, realising she had obviously thought quite a bit on the subject herself. She shrugged absently, placing her empty coffee mug on the table, running her hands carelessly over the armrests of her chair. "I just tell myself the family I've made for myself now are the ones who are really important. The people I can really rely on, not the bastard who left me before I could even know him".
Warrick glanced at her; surprised at the perspective she had managed to give him on the situation.
She appeared slightly sheepish at the amount she had disclosed, and rose to her feet, moving quickly to rinse out her mug. "Yeah, well, I should really get to DNA. See if Greg has those results back for me yet".
"Sure", Warrick said, smiling slightly at the speed that she retreated. He knew Catherine had been beaten around the back path a fair bit in her life, but it had certainly allowed her some inner wisdom on aspects of her life that he envied in a way.
His gaze lowered once more to the envelope in his hands, and drawing in a deep breath, he ripped open the seal. Good or bad, whatever it contained would not affect him. It would be knowledge, nothing more. It would resolve his inner conflicts, and allow him to move on.
Dear Mr. Brown,
We regret to inform you that the above cited, one Mr. George Brown, has been located, and declared deceased as of the 17th March 1991, in New Hope, Pennsylvania.
We apologise for any undue distress this may cause you.
Yours sincerely,
Mark CalderCalder and Co. Investigative Agency
Warrick blinked at the paper, slowly lowering it to the table. One option he hadn't even entertained was his father's death, and for a moment, he allowed himself to grieve for the man, a man he would never know enough to properly resent, or to allow himself forgive. But the discovery filled him with an uncontrollable sense of relief, and he closed his eyes as he realised it had given him what he had really wanted.
A new beginning.
