Precious Things by SLynn
Spoilers: Up to 'Nesting Dolls'
Rating: R for violence and disturbing content.
Disclaimer: Not mine – well, some are mine, just not the ones you recognize.
Notes: Thanks to my relentless beta's Tripp3235 and RivenSky. I adore you both, thanks for all the help! And folks, two more chapters and we'll reach the end!
Don't make me come to Vegas
Don't make me pull you out of his bed
I am vigilant that it will not be
You on the menu he's serving up for his friends
Don't make me come to Vegas
Don't make me pull him out of your head
'Don't Make Me Come to Vegas' by Tori Amos
Chapter 30: In Your Head
It was impossible to identify the body immediately. They all had their suspicions but DNA testing would have to prove them. Until the match was made they could do nothing. But once it came back matching their suspect, matching Anne Blanchard's only brother David Bosworth they'd be on their way.
It took Travis an hour.
Brass was soon on the line to Mr. Remus, Anne Blanchard's lawyer informing him that he could either bring his client down immediately or they'd go bring her in themselves. He said he'd be down with her in under an hour but after an hour and a half Brass got impatient.
Brass wasn't gone half an hour himself before he called back to the lab requesting their presence.
Once more they all went, Nick and Greg in one SUV, Warrick and Grissom in the other. The paramedics were there, lights off and in no obvious hurry, which could only mean one thing. There were several police cars surrounding the scene as well, two cars in the drive.
Brass met them at the door.
"Got here," he began immediately, "knocked a couple times on the door, no answer, tried it and it came open. Found them both, already dead. Al's here checking the bodies, but they can't have been dead longer then an hour each."
Grissom nodded and looked to his team. They looked ready to do this but he couldn't be sure.
Brass led the way to the back bedroom.
"She didn't waste any time," he said as he pushed the door open for them.
On the bed, laid out in an all too familiar pose was John Remus. His eyes were shut and the bruises on his neck were evident. He was stripped down to his underwear but no further. Aside from the fact that his throat was not slit, it was strikingly similar to most of the Fenton cases.
"Blunt force trauma to the head," Doc Robbins said, he was in the room when they arrived, "Not sure if it killed him, autopsy will tell, but it did at least knock him out. Looks like he was manually strangled. He's got some bruising on his chest so my guess is she straddled him to do it."
"Where is she?" Grissom asked and Doc Robbins moved from the bed to the bathroom door.
"It's not pretty," he said quite seriously to which Grissom nodded, as ready as he'd ever be.
Al opened the door and the first thing that hit them all was the smell. That familiar copper like smell fresh blood had. It was staggering, the sheer volume of blood in the room was staggering.
Anne Blanchard, formerly Ann Bosworth, appeared to be bathing in her own blood.
"Warrick," Grissom said stepping out of the bathroom, partially blocking the view from the rest of them, "Start taking pictures. I want double shots of everything."
"I'm on it," Warrick said already going for his camera.
"Greg, Nick," he said looking at them, "How do you want to proceed?"
Greg instinctively looked to Nick who took a second to compose his thoughts.
"I'll start with Warrick on Mr. Remus," he finally decided, "Leave you two Ms. Blanchard."
Greg nodded and Grissom seemed to agree with that. He honestly wasn't sure he wanted Greg at the scene at all but knowing that Greg would let him know if it was a problem he didn't object.
"I'll start documenting the bathroom," Greg said taking out his own camera.
After they were alone in the room Grissom asked him what he thought.
"I think that the lawyer told her what she was being called in for and she decided she'd had enough."
"So you don't think this might be a panic killing?" he questioned further.
"Looks too pre-meditated for that," Greg said evenly. "I mean, she had to have known once she killed her brother that eventually he'd be found and that we'd be back."
Grissom nodded, agreeing with that much of it.
Greg snapped a few more photos before nearly bumping into the door.
"Excuse me," he said to Grissom, indicating he needed it shut.
Grissom obliged, stepped out of the way and let Greg do his job, but Greg didn't start taking pictures again once he shut the door. Instead he just stared at it.
"The mirror," Greg said catching Grissom's attention. "She broke the mirror and cut her wrists but not before she left us a note."
Grissom turned now and saw what he was staring at. Written on the back of the door in fairly fresh blood were the words 'I sent him on, now I'm going home'.
At first he was too lost in thought as to what that could mean before he realized that Greg too was just staring, transfixed and turning slightly green.
"Do you…"
Grissom didn't even get the words out before Greg was pushing past him, practically shoving the camera into his hands on the way out the door. Nick and Warrick watched somewhat startled at the change but didn't question him or try to stop him as he made his way back through the house, out the back door and towards the alleyway.
Greg got about five houses down, as far away as he could before he lost it. Grissom wasn't too far behind him, having recovered quickly enough to follow him out. After several minutes of virtual dry heaves, Greg straightened up some and apologized.
"It happens," was all Grissom said more concerned about Greg now then anything else.
"I'm sorry," Greg said once more shaking his head, "It's just I've been telling myself that they aren't related. That those girls' deaths had nothing to do with Fenton, that it was a coincidence or some crazies' way of covering up their own crimes. And then that."
Greg's voice started to sound shaky again and he had to turn away hitting the cinderblock wall once hard with a closed fist.
"He said that to me," Greg said finally turning back around and resting against the wall. "Almost exactly. He said I was going home, that he was sending me on. That's what he called it."
"Did you write that in your journals?" Grissom asked calmly.
"I don't know," Greg said shaking his head, "I might have. I never re-read them. Couldn't but I might have."
Grissom nodded and remained quiet.
"I must have, right?"
"I think so," Grissom agreed, "There's nothing that indicated Dr. Fenton worked with an accomplice."
Greg nodded now finding some comfort in that.
"I didn't wreck the scene did I?" Greg asked, still more worried about his job then he was about himself.
"No," Grissom answered, "You did everything right. Exactly as you should have."
Greg tried to find some comfort in that too but couldn't. He'd never gotten physically sick at a scene before and now seemed like a strange time to start. Even after finding Dr. Sanchez's body he hadn't been ill, only afterwards back at the lab. It was just embarrassing pure and simple.
"Think you can go back in?" Grissom questioned and Greg nodded slightly feeling it was better to try then not.
Greg got all the way to the back door before shaking his head realizing he couldn't do it. His stomach lurched again and he knew that if he did go inside he'd likely not be as lucky as to make it out again before getting sick.
"God what's wrong with me?" Greg asked no one but himself as he moved away from the door frustrated.
"It's perfectly normal," Grissom tried to assure him once more.
"How is this normal?" Greg asked him holding out his hands as the shook, "What if I'm like this on every strangulation case? Every suicide? You might as well put me back in the lab."
"This hasn't happened before and there is no reason to believe it will happen again."
"And if it does?" Greg questioned moving back towards the alley as their voices became louder. Not wanting Nick or Warrick or Brass or anyone else to know he was practically having a nervous break down.
"It won't."
"How can you be so sure?" Greg asked, really wanting to believe him but not sure he could. Not about this.
"Talk to Dr. Jennings about it, she'll tell you. Better yet, talk to Sara. I know for awhile she had problems handling domestic homicides but she's learned how."
Greg shook his head not getting the connection.
"What are you talking about?"
"Because of her parents," Grissom started and then abruptly stopped once he saw Greg's face change.
For a minute or longer they just stared at each other.
"You don't know," Grissom finally said and Greg looked away.
"Griss," Warrick's voice came from just behind the back fence.
"In a minute," he called out not taking his eyes off of Greg.
After hearing Warrick walk away he still didn't know what to do.
"Greg I didn't realize…"
"Why would you?" Greg returned his back to him now, head down.
"I didn't mean…"
"Gil," came Brass' voice now, louder and obviously making his way to the gate.
"Are you going to be alright out here?" Grissom asked him in a hurry.
Greg nodded, his back still turned and listened as Grissom walked away with Brass into the house.
His head was reeling.
Sitting down, back to the wall, Greg was just trying to keep it together. If before was bad this was so much worse.
He could pretty much put two and two together. When he'd asked about her parents, asked why she'd never mentioned them, her answer had been short and he thought complete. Her father was dead, her mother and she didn't get along and her brother and she didn't speak. Now, even though it was still all probably true, it felt like such a lie.
Greg couldn't be certain but with one dead parent and Grissom's bombshell about domestic homicides he could only guess that Sara's mother had killed her father.
And why hadn't she told him that?
She could have. He'd asked even. There was no 'I forgot' to hide behind this time. No 'it slipped my mind'. She had just not told him.
And at sometime or other she had told Grissom.
This he couldn't justify.
This he couldn't explain.
He'd give her the chance but really, what would she say?
What new lie would she tell him?
